THE WILLIAMS EDITION OF 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL AND THE 
CRICKET ON THE HEARTH, 

MR. PICKWICK'S CHRISTMAS, 

and 

THE HOLLY TREE INN 
AND A CHRISTMAS TREE 

WITH ItlitJSTRATIONS IN COLOUR XSD LINE BY 

GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS 

COMPANION VOLUJIES TO "THE CHIMES " 
$2.00 EACH 

THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO. 

PTJBLISHEHS _ _ _ - NEW YORK 



THE CHIMES 



„./ 



AS WRITTEN IN THE CHRISTMAS STORIES 

By CHARLES DICKENS 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR AND LINE BY 

GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS 




NEW YORK 

THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 



.■1^ 



f^^tt^i 



\^' 



Copyright, 1908, by The Baker & Taylor Company 



Published, October, 1908 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 2 1908 

Copyrleht Entry ^ 
CLASS au. XXc, No, 
COPY 3. 




The Plimpion Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 



a^ntroouctiou 



IT was during a sojourn in Italy that Charles 
Dickens wrote the " Chimes." In the last week 
of September, 1844, he moved with his family 
from Albaro to Genoa, and here settled down in 
the Peschiere to serious work. From the several 
rooms he and his family occupied he chose for his 
study a small one that commanded a view of the 
city and its harbor. From his window he could 
see over the city as far as the lighthouse, which 
was one of the wonders of Genoa. This view on 
a clear day was a never failing source of enjoy- 
ment. The whole city with its many varieties of 
towers and steeples lay stretched out before him. 
Dickens wrote of this beautiful spot: "Beyond 
the town is the wide expanse of the Mediterranean, 
as blue, at this moment, as the most pure and 
vivid Prussian blue on Mac's palette (referring to 

[V] 



INTRODUCTION 

his friend Maclise the painter) when it is newly 
set; and on the horizon there is a red flush seen 
no where as it is here. Immediately below the 
windows are the gardens of the house, with gold- 
fish swimming and diving in the fountains; and 
below them, at the foot of a steep slope, the public 
garden and drive, where the walks are marked 
out by hedges of pink roses, which blush and 
shine through the green trees and vines, close up 
to the balconies of these windows. No custom 
can impair, and no description enhance, the beauty 
of the scene." 

But all this splendor did not impress Dickens 
at once, and it counted for little when he first 
settled himself seriously to work. How he felt 
in regard to this is best expressed in his own 
words. "Never did I stagger so upon a threshold 
before. I seem as if I had plucked myself out 
of my proper soil when I left Devonshire-Terrace, 
and could take root no more until I return to it. 
Did I tell you how many fountains we have here ? 
No matter if they played nectar, they wouldn't 



INTRODUCTION 

please me half as well as the West Middlesex 
water-works at Devonshire-Terrace." 

Strange to say this location and its great beauty 
by which he seemed so little effected at first, were 
soon to play a most important part in the creation 
of the "Chimes." 

Although he had chosen the subject for his new 
Christmas story, the title and the machinery for 
it still evaded him, but while he pondered over 
these essential factors, the problem was solved in 
a strange and unforeseen manner. 

Preparing for work one morning, although not 
at all in the mood for it, he was startled as a 
tremendous peal of chimes burst from the city 
below. The sea of bells was maddening. All 
Genoa seemed to vibrate as with clash and clang 
the discordant notes arose from the many towers 
and steeples. This tuneless and grating vibration 
made his ideas "spin round and round till they 
lost themselves in a whirl of vexation and giddi- 
ness, and dropped down dead." Two days later 
in a letter to Forster, Dickens wrote, "We have 

[vii] 



INTRODUCTION 

heard The Chimes at midnight. Master Sallow!" 
Forster said that he knew then Dickens had what 
he wanted. But although he had decided upon 
the title suggested by the bells of Genoa, he was 
still unable to make progress with the tale. Dick- 
ens craved the London streets that had always 
stimulated him to write. The long midnight walks 
indulged in before beginning a work, were indeed 
missed, and he confided to Forster that he was 
"dumbfounded without them — I can't help think- 
ing of the boy in the school class whose button 
was cut off by Walter Scott and his friends — Put 
me down on Waterloo-bridge at eight o'clock in 
the evening, with leave to roam about as long as 
I like, and I would come home, as you know, 
panting to go on. I am sadly strange as it is, 
and can't settle." In another letter he writes 
again: "It's a great thing to have my title, and 
see my way to work the bells. Let them clash 
upon me now from all the churches and convents 
in Genoa, I see nothing but the old London 
belfry I have set them in. In my mind's eye, 

[ viii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

Horatio, I like more and more my notion of 
making, in this little book a great blow for the 
poor. Something powerful I think I can do, but 
I want to be tender too, and cheerful; as like the 
Carol in that respect as may be, and as unlike it 
as such a thing can be. The duration of the 
action will resemble it a little, but I trust to the 
novelty of the machinery to carry that off; and if 
my design be anything at all, it has a grip upon 
the throat of the time." 

And thus the "Chimes" was started. He was 
to strike a blow for the poor. This aim was not 
at all strange for Dickens was continually their 
friend in all his writings. There was, however, 
to be one peculiar point about this story, nothing 
else was to be remembered. It was to be the 
poor first and last. 

For some time before Dickens had left England, 
Forster writes that he was, "in the habit of more 
gravely regarding many things before passed 
lightly enough; the hopelessness of any true solu- 
tion of either political or social problems by the 



INTRODUCTION 



ordinary Downing-street methods, had been start- 
hngly impressed on him in Carlyle's writings; and 
in the parHamentary talk of the day he had come 
to have as httle faith for the putting down of any 
serious evil, as in a then notorious city alderman's 
gabble for the putting down of suicide. The 
latter had stirred his indignation to its depth 
just before he had come to Italy, and his in- 
creased opportunities of solitary reflection since 
had strengthened and extended it. When he 
came, therefore, to think of his new story for 
Christmas time, he resolved to make it a plea for 
the poor. He did not want it to resemble the 
Carol, but the same kind of moral was in his 
mind. He was to try and convert society, as he 
had converted Scrooge by showing that its happi- 
ness rested on the same foundations as those of 
the individual, which are mercy and charity, not 
less than justice. Whether right or wrong in 
these assumptions, need not be questioned here, 
where facts are merely stated to render intelligible 
what will follow; he had never made politics at 



INTRODUCTION 

any time a study, and they were always an instinct 
with him rather than a science; but the instinct 
was wholesome and sound, and to set class against 
class he never ceased to think as odious as he 
thought it righteous at all times to help each to a 
kindlier knowledge of the other. And so here in 
Italy, amid the grand surroundings of this Palazzo 
Peschiere the hero of his imagination was to be 
a sorry old drudge of a London ticket porter, who 
in his anxiety not to distrust or think hardly of 
the rich, has fallen into the opposite extreme of 
distrusting the poor. From such distrust it is the 
object of the story to reclaim him; and, to the 
writer of it, the tale became itself of less moment 
than what he thus intended it to enforce. Far 
beyond mere vanity in authorship, went the pas- 
sionate zeal with which he began, and the exul- 
tation with which he finished this task." 

When, after completing the "Chimes," Dickens 
met Forster, he was fresh from Venice, which 
place had made a deep impression. It was to 
him 'Hhe wonder" and "the new sensation" of 

[xi] 



INTRODUCTION 

the world. But far above all this arose a hope 
that filled his mind. He said to his friend, "Ah! 
when I saw those places, how I thought that to 
leave one's hand upon the time, lastingly upon 
the time, with one tender touch for the mass of 
toiling people that nothing could obliterate, would 
be to lift oneself above the dust of all the Doges 
in their graves, and stand upon a giant's staircase 
that Samson couldn't overthrow!" 

This ambition in its varying forms was the key- 
note of Dickens' life, and perhaps, after all, none 
of his work more clearly expresses it than his 
Christmas writings. 

The letters Dickens sent to Forster while he 
was writing the "Chimes" reveal above all the 
sincerity of his purpose. He felt the lack of his 
beloved London streets to plunge into after the 
day's writing. But, aside from missing this stim- 
ulus, the life he led was favorable to work. His 
excitement grew apace as the theme progressed 
and he writes, "get up at seven; have a cold bath 
before breakfast and blaze away, wrathful and 

[xii] 



INTRODUCTION 

red hot, until three o'clock or so ... I am fierce 
to finish in a spirit bearing some affinity to those 
of truth and mercy, and to shame the cruel and 
canting; I have not forgotten my catechism, yes, 
verily, with God's help so I will!" 

As the tale progressed he sent the various parts 
to his friend Forster to read. With the first part 
was an outline of his plan, but Dickens, as a rule, 
diverged materially from his first outline when it 
came to the final writing. In this instance new 
figures were introduced. He wrote at this stage, 
"I am still in stout heart with the tale. I think 
it well timed and a good thought. It has great 
possession of me every moment in the day, and 
drags me where it will." 

The intense enthusiasm with which Dickens 
accomplished his work cost him a great deal both 
mentally and physically. When he sent Forster 
the third part, with the scene from which he 
expected so much, he wrote, "This book (whether 
in the Hajji Baba sense or not I can't say, but 
certainly in a literal one) has made my face white 

[ xiii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

in a foreign land. My cheeks, which were be- 
ginning to fill out, have sunk again; my eyes have 
grown immensely large; my hair is very lank; and 
the head inside the hair is hot and giddy. Read 
the scene at the end of the third part, twice. I 
wouldn't write it twice for something." 

Dickens was endowed with a hopefulness that 
allowed him to say, "To-morrow I shall begin 
afresh (starting the next part with a broad grin, 
and ending with the very soul of jollity and hap- 
piness.)" "Since I conceived," he states, "at the 
beginning of the second part, what must happen 
in the third, I have undergone as much sorrow and 
agitation as if the thing were real; and have 
wakened up with it at night." And so, this weird 
and forceful expression of his ideas was brought 
to a close. He was obliged to lock himself in his 
room when he finished, and, in his own words, 
"my face was swollen for the time to twice its 
proper size, and was hugely ridiculous." The 
letter containing this information ends abruptly 
with, "I am going for a long walk, to clear my 

[xiv] 



INTRODUCTION 

head. I feel I am very shaky from work, and 
throw down my pen for one day. There ! (That's 
where it fell.)" 

During the completion of this exciting tale he 
planned a visit to London. The reason of this 
was twofold. Aside from seeing the final proofs 
and engravings of the illustrations he was very 
eager to know the effect of what he had been 
doing. This journey resulted in one of the most 
delightful events connected with the production 
of the *' Chimes." 

He had been advised not to make the journey 
for fear of its proving a tax upon his health which 
was none too good at the time. After sending to 
Forster numerous excuses for his making the effort 
he finally writes, "Shall I confess to you, I par- 
ticularly want Carlyle above all to see it before 
the rest of the world, when it is done; and I would 
like to inflict the little story on him and on dear 
old gallant Macready with my own lips, and to 
have Stanny and the other Mac sitting by. Now 
if you was a real gent, you'd get up a little circle 

[XV] 



INTRODUCTION 

for me one wet evening when I am in town." 
Forster at once hastened to comply with his 
request. 

According to his letter of November 3d, 1844, 
the little tale was finished. "Half past two, after- 
noon. Thank God! I have finished the " Chimes." 
This moment I take up my pen again to-day, to 
say only that much, and to add that I have had 
what women call *a real good cry.'" In this same 
letter is information of his departure, which was 
to be on Wednesday, November 5th. Then con- 
tinuing, "Now you know my punctuality. Frost, 
ice, flooded rivers, steamers, horses, passports and 
custom houses may damage it. But my design is 
to walk into Cuttris's cofl^ee-room on Sunday, the 
1st of December, in good time for dinner. I shall 
look for you at the farther table by the fire — where 
we generally go ... But the party for the night 
following.^ I know you have consented to the 
party. Let me see. Don't have any one, this 
particular night, to dinner, but let it be a summons 
for the special purpose at half-past six, Carlyle 

[xvi] 



INTRODUCTION 

indispensable, and I should like his wife of all 
things; her judgment would be invaluable. You 
will ask Mac, and why not his sister? Stanny 
and Jerrold I should particularly wish; Edwin 
Landseer; Blanchard; perhaps Harness; and what 
say you to Fonblanque and Fox? I leave it to 
you. You know the effect I want to try." 

Dickens arrived in London Saturday night. On 
Monday, December 2d, he read the "Chimes" to 
the select few as he had desired. In this reading 
was the germ of those readings to larger audiences 
for which later on he was to become so celebrated. 

This little book was to be one of his greatest 
successes, although its great depth of feeling pro- 
voked enmity. But, the suffering its writing had 
cost him and the unjust criticism it aroused were 
compensated for by the intensity it always repre- 
sented to himself that which he hoped to be 
longest remembered for. Exactly what Dickens 
held this to be is best expressed by his friend 
Jeffrey, who wrote, *'A11 the tribe of selfishness, 
and cowardice and cant, will hate you in their 

[ xvii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

hearts, and cavil when they can; will accuse you 
of wicked exaggeration, and excitement to discon- 
tent, and what they pleasantly call dissatisfaction. 
But never mind. The good and the brave are 
with you, and the truth also." 

There are many notes of interest relating to the 
illustration of the " Chimes." For the first edition 
four celebrated artists were engaged by Forster; 
John Leech, Richard Doyle, Clarkson Stanfield 
and Daniel Maclise. 

John Leech contributed five pictures. In a col- 
lection of the artist's work at Nottingham Castle 
may be seen some of the preliminary pencil studies 
made for these illustrations. 

At first Leech did not have a conception of 
Richard that pleased Dickens. The novelist in- 
vited Leech and Doyle to breakfast with him, 
Doyle also having made a drawing that did not 
suit. With his usual success Dickens got both 
artists to do the designs over. The illustrations 
Leech finally made for the "Chimes" are not less 
interesting than those he made for the " Christmas 

[ xviii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

Carol " and they will always be held in highest 
esteem. 

While Leech contributed the largest number of 
designs for the "Christmas Books," Richard Doyle 
holds second place, having done in all for three 
of the first editions, ten drawings. Although con- 
trary to the usual custom, it seems that Dickens 
was never personally acquainted with Doyle. Just 
why in this case an exception was made will prob- 
ably remain a mystery. The incident seems very 
strange when we reflect upon the intimate relations 
Dickens as a rule had with his interpreters. 

In the Clarkson Stanfield R. A., the greatest 
marine painter of his time, we deal with one of 
Dickens' most intimate friendships. Stanfield made 
the acquaintance of the novelist in the "Thirties." 
Their mutual friendship is best described in a 
letter Dickens wrote to the artist. "I love you so 
truly and have so much pride and joy of heart in 
your friendship, that I don't know how to begin 
writing to you. Stanfield was Dickens' senior by 
about nineteen years, and his public career as an 

[ xix ] 



INTRODUCTION 

artist of repute was well established when Dickens 
completed the "Chimes." So it seems only nat- 
ural Dickens should want to enlist the services of 
this distinguished draughtsman. 

Stanfield desiring to gratify his friend did not 
need much persuasion to cooperate. The two 
drawings he made were, "The Old Church" and 
"Will Fern's Cottage." Both of these plates are 
charming examples of what this artist knew so 
well how to depict. Dickens, writing in a letter 
to Mrs. Dickens, says, "Stanfield's readiness, de- 
light and wonder at my being pleased with what 
he has done is delicious." 

It appears Stanfield would not accept payment 
for these drawings; so as the friendly spirit in 
which such a generous gift was made could not 
be passed by Dickens without some suitable 
acknowledgment, accompanying a letter from him 
dated October 2, 1845, was a silver claret-jug with 
the engraved inscription "In memory of the 
Chimes." 

Of all the close friends that Dickens had none 

[XX] 



INTRODUCTION 

was more beloved than Daniel Maclise. This 
warm-hearted Irish artist of fine genius and hand- 
some person charmed all who knew him. His 
career was one of achievement and in 1866 he 
was offered the Presidency of the Royal Academy 
which he did not accept. 

In the year of Maclise's election as associate of 
the academy he was introduced by Forster to 
Dickens. So congenial were the tastes and pur- 
suits of these three friends that thenceforth they 
were inseparable and for thirty years without inter- 
ruption this affectionate intercourse was maintained. 

The drawings Maclise contributed to the 
"Chimes" are described by Dickens as *' charm- 
ing." This is indeed true of his drawing of the 
Tower depicting the elves, fairies, and spirits of 
the bells, and allegorical figures typifying Love, 
Life and Death. The original drawings that were 
engraved on steel by F. P. Becker are now in the 
South Kensington Museum. 

The most important illustrations made for 
modern editions of the "Chimes" are those of 

[xxi] 



INTRODUCTION 

Charles Green and Frederick Barnard. Charles 
Green made thirty drawings for an edition of the 
Pears Annual while Barnard contributed those for 
the Chapman & Hall Household edition of 
Dickens' complete works. 

While the collector and bibliophile claim that 
the designs in the original issues hold the charm 
of association, it must be admitted that the work 
of modern men such as Green and Barnard have 
many qualities worthy of admiration. In fact, it 
has been said that Barnard is the illustrator "par 
excellence" of Dickens not excepting Phiz. It 
must be admitted that as time goes on it is the 
human qualities of Dickens' writings that are 
appealing to us more and more. This is the 
foundation upon which his fame is firmly fixed. If 
we consider the modern pictorial interpretation of 
his work from this point of view, we must admit 
the superiority of much of the later work. Be- 
sides the interpretations of Green and Barnard 
we have those of such artists as Leighton, Millias, 
Walker, Sandys and Sir Luke Fildes. 

[ xxii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

The illustrator of this volume has aimed to 
interpret the "Chimes" in a spirit consistent with 
the true, deep meaning of the story and the meas- 
ure of success he has achieved must be judged by 
what degree of the humanistic quality of Dickens' 
story he has embodied in his work. 

George Alfred Williams. 

Chatham, New Jersey. 



[ xxiii ] 



ILiet of Illustrations 



New Year's Frontispiece' 

J FACING PAGE 

Trotty's Dinner 48 ^ 

"Here! come up this alley, and Til tell you 

what I mean'' 102. 

"'Tohy Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you" 118' 

The Chimes 126- 

''YouWe in spirits, Tughy, my dear'' . . 174^ 

With the baby in her arms, she wandered here 

and there in search of occupation . . . 188 ^ 

''Follow her! To desperation" .... 196^ 
" The first kiss of Meg in the New Year is 

mine. Mine!" 202 

The Dance at Trotty Veck's 208 



[xxv] 



THE CHIMES 

FIRST QUARTER 

'T^HERE are not many people — and as it 
is desirable that a story-teller and a story- 
reader should establish a mutual understanding 
as soon as possible, I beg it to be noticed that I 
confine this observation neither to young people 
nor to little people, but extend it to all condi- 
tions of people: little and big, young and old: 
yet growing up, or already growing down again 
— there are not, I say, many people who would 
care to sleep in a church. I don't mean at 
sermon-time in warm weather (when the thing 
has actually been done, once or twice), but in 
the night, and alone. A great multitude of per- 
sons will be violently astonished, I know, by 

[29] 



THE CHIMES 

this position, in the broad bold Day. But it 
apphes to Night. It must be argued by night, 
and I will undertake to maintain it successfully 
on any gusty winter's night appointed for the pur- 
pose, with any one opponent chosen from the 
rest, who will meet me singly in an old church- 
yard, before an old church-door; and will pre- 
viously empower me to lock him in, if needful 
to his satisfaction, until morning. 

For the night-wind has a dismal trick of wander- 
ing round and round a building of that sort, and 
moaning as it goes; and of trying, with its un- 
seen hand, the windows and the doors; and 
seeking out some crevices by which to enter. 
And when it has got in; as one not finding what 
it seeks, whatever that may be, it wails and howls 
to issue forth again: and not content with stalk- 
ing through the aisles, and gliding round and 
round the pillars, and tempting the deep organ, 
soars up to the roof, and strives to rend the rafters : 
then flings itself despairingly upon the stones 
below, and passes, muttering, into the vaults. 

[30] 



THE CHIMES 



Anon, it comes up stealthily, and creeps along the 
walls, seeming to read, in whispers, the Inscrip- 
tions sacred to the Dead. At some of these, it 
breaks out shrilly, as with laughter; and at others, 
moans and cries as if it were lamenting. It has 
a ghostly sound too, lingering within the altar; 
where it seems to chaunt, in its wild way, of Wrong 
and Murder done, and false Gods worshipped, 
in defiance of the Tables of the Law, which look 
so fair and smooth, but are so flawed and broken. 
Ugh! Heaven preserve us, sitting snugly round 
the fire! It has an awful voice, that wind at 
Midnight, singing in a church! 

But, high up in the steeple! There the foul 
blast roars and whistles! High up in the steeple, 
where it is free to come and go through many 
an airy arch and loophole, and to twist and twine 
itself about the giddy stair, and twirl the groan- 
ing weathercock, and make the very tower shake 
and shiver! High up in the steeple, where the 
belfry is, and iron rails are ragged with rust, 
and sheets of lead and copper, shrivelled by the 

[31] 



THE CHIMES 

changing weather, crackle and heave beneath 
the unaccustomed tread; and birds stuff shabby 
nests into corners of old oaken joists and beams; 
and dust grows old and grey; and speckled spiders, 
indolent and fat with long security, swing idly 
to and fro in the vibration of the bells, and never 
loose their hold upon their thread-spun castles 
in the air, or climb up sailor-like in quick alarm, 
or drop upon the ground and ply a score of nimble 
legs to save one life! High up in the steeple of 
an old church, far above the light and murmur 
of the town and far below the flying clouds that 
shadow it, is the wild and dreary place at night: 
and high up in the steeple of an old church, dwelt 
the Chimes I tell of. 

They were old Chimes, trust me. Centuries 
ago, these Bells had been baptized by bishops: 
so many centuries ago, that the register of their 
baptism was lost long, long before the memory 
of man, and no one knew their names. They 
had had their Godfathers and Godmothers, these 
Bells (for my own part, by the way, I would 

[32] 



THE CHIMES 

rather incur the responsibihty of being Godfather 
to a Bell than a Boy), and had their silver mugs 
no doubt, besides. But Time had mowed down 
their sponsors, and Henry the Eighth had melted 
down their mugs; and they now hung, nameless 
and mugless, in the church-tower. 

Not speechless, though. Far from it. They 
had clear, loud, lusty, sounding voices, had these 
Bells; and far and wide they might be heard 
upon the wind. Much too sturdy Chimes were 
they, to be dependent on the pleasure of the wind, 
moreover; for, fighting gallantly against it when 
it took an adverse whim, they would pour their 
cheerful notes into a listening ear right royally; 
and bent on being heard on stormy nights, by 
some poor mother watching a sick child, or some 
lone wife whose husband was at sea, they had 
been sometimes known to beat a blustering Nor' 
Wester; aye, "all to fits," as Toby Veck said; — 
for though they chose to call him Trotty Veck, 
his name was Toby, and nobody could make it 
anything else either (except Tobias) without a 

[33] 



THE CHIMES 

special act of parliament; he having been as law- 
fully christened in his day as the Bells had been 
in theirs, though with not quite so much of solem- 
nity or public rejoicing. 

For my part, I confess myself of Toby Veck's 
belief, for I am sure he had opportunities enough 
of forming a correct one. And whatever Toby 
Veck said, I say. And I take my stand by Toby 
Veck, although he did stand all day long (and 
weary work it was) just outside the church-door. 
In fact he was a ticket-porter, Toby Veck, and 
waited there for jobs. 

And a breezy, goose-skinned, blue-nosed, red- 
eyed, stony-toed, tooth-chattering place it was, 
to wait in, in the winter-time, as Toby Veck 
well knew. The wind came tearing round the 
corner — especially the east wind — as if it had 
sallied forth, express, from the confines of the 
earth, to have a blow at Toby. And oftentimes 
it seemed to come upon him sooner than it had 
expected, for bouncing round the corner, and 
passing Toby, it would suddenly wheel round 

[34] 



THE CHIMES 

again, as if it cried "Why, here he is!" In- 
continently his little white apron would be caught 
up over his head like a naughty boy's garments, 
and his feeble little cane would be seen to wrestle 
and struggle unavailingly in his hand, and his 
legs would undergo tremendous agitation, and 
Toby himself all aslant, and facing now in this 
direction, now in that, would be so banged and 
buffeted, and touzled, and worried, and hustled, 
and lifted off his feet, as to render it a state of 
things but one degree removed from a positive 
miracle, that he wasn't carried up bodily into 
the air as a colony of frogs or snails or other 
very portable creatures sometimes are, and rained 
down again, to the great astonishment of the na- 
tives, on some strange corner of the world where 
ticket-porters are unknown. 

But, windy weather, in spite of its using him 
so roughly, was, after all, a sort of holiday for 
Toby. That's the fact. He didn't seem to 
wait so long for a sixpence in the wind, as at other 
times; the having to fight with that boisterous 

[35] 



THE CHIMES 

element took off his attention, and quite fresh- 
ened him up, when he was getting hungry and 
low-spirited. A hard frost too, or a fall of snow, 
was an Event; and it seemed to do him good, 
somehow or other — it would have been hard 
to say in what respect though, Toby! So wind 
and frost and snow, and perhaps a good stiff 
storm of hail, were Toby Veck's red-letter days. 
Wet weather was the worst; the cold, damp, 
clammy wet, that wrapped him up like a moist 
great-coat — the only kind of great-coat Toby 
owned, or could have added to his comfort by 
dispensing with. Wet days, when the rain came 
slowly, thickly, obstinately down ; when the street's 
throat, like his own, was choked with mist; when 
smoking umbrellas passed and re-passed, spinning 
round and round like so many teetotums, as they 
knocked against each other on the crowded foot- 
way, throwing off a little whirlpool of uncom- 
fortable sprinklings; when gutters brawled and 
waterspouts were full and noisy; when the wet 
from the projecting stones and ledges of the 

[36] 



THE CHIMES 

church fell drip, drip, drip, on Toby, making the 
wisp of straw on which he stood mere mud in 
no time; those were the days that tried him. 
Then, indeed, you might see Toby looking anx- 
iously out from his shelter in an angle of the 
church wall — such a meagre shelter that in 
summer time it never cast a shadow thicker than 
a good-sized walking stick upon the sunny pave- 
ment — with a disconsolate and lengthened face. 
But coming out, a minute afterwards, to warm 
himself by exercise, and trotting up and down 
some dozen times, he would brighten even then, 
and go back more brightly to his niche. 

They called him Trotty from his pace, which 
meant speed if it didn't make it. He could have 
Walked faster perhaps; most likely; but rob him 
of his trot, and Toby would have taken to his 
bed and died. It bespattered him with mud 
in dirty weather; it cost him a world of trouble; 
he could have walked with infinitely greater ease; 
but that was one reason for his clinging to it so 
tenaciously. A weak, small, spare old man, he 

[37] 



THE CHIMES 

was a very Hercules, this Toby, in his good in- 
tentions. He loved to earn his money. He de 
lighted to believe — Toby was very poor, and 
couldn't well afford to part with a delight — that 
he was worth his salt. With a shilling or an eight- 
een penny message or small parcel in hand, his 
courage always high, rose higher. As he trotted 
on, he would call out to fast Postmen ahead of 
him, to get out of the way ; devoutly believing that 
in the natural course of things he must inevitably 
overtake and run them down; and he had per- 
fect faith — not often tested — in his being able 
to carry anything that man could lift. 

Thus, even when he came out of his nook to 
warm himself on a wet day, Toby trotted. Mak- 
ing, with his leaky shoes, a crooked line of slushy 
footprints in the mire; and blowing on his chilly 
hands and rubbing them against each other, 
poorly defended from the searching cold by thread- 
bare mufflers of grey worsted, with a private apart- 
ment only for the thumb, and a common room or 
tap for the rest of the fingers; Toby, with his 

[38] 



THE CHIMES 

knees bent and his cane beneath his arm, still trotted. 
Falling out in to the road to look up at the belfry 
when the Chimes resounded, Toby trotted still. 

He made this last excursion several times a day, 
for they were company to him; and when he heard 
their voices, he had an interest in glancing at their 
lodging-place, and thinking how they were moved, 
and what hammers beat upon them. Perhaps he 
was the more curious about these Bells, because 
there were points of resemblance between them- 
selves and him. They hung there, in all weathers, 
with the wind and rain driving in upon them; 
facing only the outsides of all those houses; never 
getting any nearer to the blazing fires that gleamed 
and shone upon the windows, or came puflSng 
out of the chimney tops; and incapable of partici- 
pation in any of the good things that were con- 
stantly being handed, through the street doors 
and the area railings, to prodigious cooks. Faces 
came and went at many windows: sometimes 
pretty faces, youthful faces, pleasant faces: some- 
times the reverse : but Toby knew no more (though 

[39] 



THE CHIMES 

he often speculated on these trifles, standing idle 
in the streets) whence they came, or where they 
went, or whether, when the lips moved, one kind 
word was said of him in all the year, than did the 
Chimes themselves. 

Toby was not a casuist — that he knew of, at 
least — and I don't mean to say that when he be- 
gan to take to the Bells, and to knit up his first 
rough acquaintance with them into something of 
a closer and more delicate woof, he passed through 
these considerations one by one, or held any formal 
review or great field-day in his thoughts. But 
what I mean to say, and do say is, that as the func- 
tions of Toby's body, his digestive organs for 
example, did of their own cunning, and by a great 
many operations of which he was altogether 
ignorant, and the knowledge of which would have 
astonished him very much, arrive at a certain end; 
so his mental faculties, without his privity or con- 
currence, set all these wheels and springs in motion, 
with a thousand others, when they worked to 
bring about his liking for the Bells. 

[40] 



THE CHIMES 

And though I had said his love, I would not 
have recalled the word, though it would scarcely 
have expressed his complicated feeling. For, being 
but a simple man, he invested them with a strange 
and solemn character. They were so mysterious, 
often heard and never seen; so high up, so far off, 
so full of such a deep strong melody, that he re- 
garded them with a species of awe; and sometimes 
when he looked up at the dark arched windows 
in the tower, he half expected to be beckoned to 
by something which was not a Bell, and yet was 
what he had heard so often sounding in the Chimes. 
For all this, Toby scouted with indignation a cer- 
tain flying rumour that the Chimes were haunted, 
as implying the possibility of their being connected 
with any Evil thing. In short, they were very often 
in his ears, and very often in his thoughts, but 
always in his good opinion; and he very often got 
such a crick in his neck by staring with his mouth 
wide open, at the steeple where they hung, that he 
was fain to take an extra trot or two, afterwards, 
to cure it. 

[41] 



THE CHIMES 

The very thing he was in the act of doing one 
cold day, when the last drowsy sound of Twelve 
o'clock, just struck, was humming like a melodious 
monster of a Bee, and not by any means a busy 
bee, all through the steeple! 

*' Dinner-time, eh!" said Toby, trotting up and 
down before the church. *'Ah!" 

Toby's nose was very red, and his eyelids were 
very red, and he winked very much, and his 
shoulders were very near his ears, and his legs 
were very stiff, and altogether he was evidently a 
long way upon the frosty side of cool. 

"Dinner-time, eh!" repeated Toby, using 
his right-hand muffler like an infantine boxing- 
glove, and punishing his chest for being cold. 
"Ah-h-h-h!" 

He took a silent trot, after that, for a minute or 
two. 

"There's nothing," said Toby, breaking forth 
afresh — but here he stopped short in his trot, 
and with a face of great interest and some alarm, 
felt his nose carefully all the way up. It was but 

[42] 



THE CHIMES 

a little way (not being much of a nose) and he had 
soon finished. 

"I thought it was gone," said Toby, trotting 
off again. "It's all right, however. I am sure I 
couldn't blame it if it was to go. It has a precious 
hard service of it in the bitter weather, and precious 
little to look forward to ; for I don't take snuff my- 
self. It's a good deal tried, poor creetur, at the 
best of times ; for when it does get hold of a pleasant 
whiff or so (which an't too often), it's generally 
from somebody else's dinner, a-coming home from 
the baker's." 

The reflection reminded him of that other re- 
flection, which he had left unfinished. 

"There's nothing," said Toby, "more regular 
in its coming round than dinner-time, and nothing 
less regular in its coming round than dinner. 
That's the great difference between 'em. It's 
took me a long time to find it out. I wonder 
whether it would be worth any gentleman's while, 
now, to buy that obserwation for the Papers; or 

the Parliament! " 

[43] 



THE CHIMES 

Toby was only joking, for he gravely shook his 
head in self -depreciation. 

"Why! Lord!" said Toby. "The Papers is 
full of obserwations as it is; and so's the Parlia- 
ment. Here's last week's paper, now;" taking 
a very dirty one from his pocket, and holding it 
from him at arm's length; "full of obserwations! 
Full of obserwations! I like to know the news as 
well as any man," said Toby, slowly; folding it a 
little smaller, and putting it in his pocket again: 
"but it almost goes against the grain with me to 
read a paper now. It frightens me almost. I 
don't know what we poor people are coming to. 
Lord send we may be coming to something better 
in the New Year nigh upon us!" 

"Why, father, father!" said a pleasant voice, 
hard by. 

But Toby, not hearing it, continued to trot back- 
wards and forwards: musing as he went, and talk- 
ing to himself. 

"It seems as if we can't go right, or do right, or 
be righted," said Toby. "I hadn't much school- 

[44] 



THE CHIMES 

ing, myself, when I was young; and I can't make 
out whether we have any business on the face of 
the earth, or not. Sometimes I think we must 
have — a httle; and sometimes I think we must be 
intruding. I get so puzzled sometimes that I am 
not even able to make up my mind whether there 
is any good at all in us, or whether we are born bad. 
We seem to be dreadful things; we seem to give a 
deal of trouble; we are always being complained 
of and guarded against. One way or other, we 
fill the papers. Talk of a New Year!" said Toby, 
mournfully. *'I can bear up as well as another 
man at most times; better than a good many, for 
I am as strong as a hon, and all men an't; but 
supposing it should really be that we have no 
right to a New Year — supposing we really are 
intruding " 

"Why, father, father!" said the pleasant voice 
again. 

Toby heard it this time; started; stopped; and 
shortening his sight, which had been directed a 
long way off as seeking the enlightenment in the 

[45] 



THE CHIMES 

very heart of the approaching year, found him- 
self face to face with his own child, and looking 
close into her eyes. 

Bright eyes they were. Eyes that would bear 
a world of looking in, before their depth was 
fathomed. Dark eyes, that reflected back the 
eyes which searched them; not flashingly, or at 
the owner's will, but with a clear, calm, honest, 
patient radiance, claiming kindred with that light 
which Heaven called into being. Eyes that were 
beautiful and true, and beaming with Hope. 
With Hope so young and fresh; with Hope so 
buoyant, vigorous, and bright, despite the twenty 
years of work and poverty on which they had 
looked; that they became a voice to Trotty Veck, 
and said: "I think we have some business here — 
a little!" 

Trotty kissed the lips belonging to the eyes, and 
squeezed the blooming face between his hands. 

"Why, Pet," said Trotty. "What's to do.? I 
didn't expect you to-day, Meg." 

"Neither did I expect to come, father," cried 
[46] 



THE CHIMES 

the girl, nodding her head and smiHng as she 

spoke. *' But here I am ! And not alone ; not alone ! " 

"Why you don't mean to say," observed Trotty, 

looking curiously at a covered basket which she 

carried in her hand, "that you " 

"Smell it, father dear," said Meg. "Only 
smell it!" 

Trotty was going to lift up the cover at once, 
in a great hurry, when she gaily interposed her 
hand. 

"No, no, no," said Meg, with the glee of a child. 
"Lengthen it out a little. Let me just lift up the 
corner; just the lit-tle ti-ny cor-ner, you know," 
said Meg, suiting the action to the word with the 
utmost gentleness, and speaking very softly, as if 
she were afraid of being overheard by something 
inside the basket; "there. Now. What's that.?" 

Toby took the shortest possible sniff at the edge 
of the basket, and cried out in a rapture: 

"Why, it's hot!" 

"It's burning hot!" cried Meg. "Ha, ha, ha! 
It's scalding hot!" 

[47] 



THE CHIMES 

"Ha, ha, ha!" roared Toby, with a sort of kick. 
"It's scalding hot!" 

"But what is it, father?" said Meg. "Come. 
You haven't guessed what it is. And you must 
guess what it is. I can't think of taking it out, 
till you guess what it is. Don't be in such a 
hurry! Wait a minute! A little bit more of the 
cover. Now guess!" 

Meg was in a perfect fright lest he should guess 
right too soon; shrinking away, as she held the 
basket towards him; curling up her pretty should- 
ers; stopping her ear with her hand, as if 
by so doing she could keep the right word 
out of Toby's lips; and laughing softly the whole 
time. 

Meanwhile Toby, putting a hand on each 
knee, bent down his nose to the basket, and took 
a long inspiration at the lid; the grin upon his 
withered face expanding in the process, as if he 
were inhaling laughing gas. 

" Ah ! It's very nice," said Toby. " It an't — I 
suppose it an't Polonies.^" 

[48] 







Trotty s D'wuer 



THE CHIMES 

"No, no, no!" cried Meg, delighted. *' Nothing 
Hke Polonies!" 

"No," said Toby, after another sniff. "It's — 
it's mellower than Polonies. It's very nice. It 
improves every moment. It's too decided for 
Trotters. An't it.?" 

Meg was in an ecstasy. He could not have 
gone wider of the mark than Trotters — expect 
Polonies. 

"Liver.?" said Toby, communing with himself. 
"No. There's a mildness about it that don't 
answer to liver. Pettitoes ? No. It an't faint 
enought for pettitoes. It wants the stringiness 
of Cock's heads. And I know it an't sausages. 
I'll tell you what it is. It's chitterlings!" 

"No, it an't!" cried Meg, in a burst of delight. 
"No, it an't!" 

"Why, what am I a-thinking of!" said Toby, 
suddenly recovering a position as near the per- 
pendicular as it was possible for him to assume. 
"I shall forget my own name next. It's tripe!" 

Tripe it was; and Meg, in high joy, protested he 
[49] 



THE CHIMES 

should say, in half a minute more, it was the best 
tripe ever stewed. 

''And so," said Meg, busying herself exultingly 
with the basket, "I'll lay the cloth at once, father; 
for I have brought the tripe in a basin, and tied 
the basin up in a pocket-handkerchief; and if I 
like to be proud for once, and spread that for a 
cloth, and call it a cloth, there's no law to prevent 
me; is there, father?" 

"Not that I know of, my dear," said Toby. 
"But they're always a-bringing up some new law 
or other." 

"And according to what I was reading you in 
the paper the other day, father; what the Judge 
said, you know; we poor people are supposed to 
know them all. Ha ha! What a mistake! My 
goodness me, how clever they think us!" 

"Yes, my dear," cried Trotty; "and they'd be 
very fond of any one of us that did know 'em all. 
He'd grow fat upon the work he'd get, that man, 
and be popular with the gentlefolks in his neigh- 
bourhood. Very much so!" 

[50] 



THE CHIMES 

"He'd eat his dinner with an appetite, whoever 
he was, if it smelt hke this," said Meg, cheerfully. 
"Make haste, for there's a hot potato besides, 
and half a pint of fresh-drawn beer in a bottle 
Where will you dine, father ? On the Post, or on 
the Steps ? Dear, dear, how grand we are. Two 
places to choose from!" 

"The steps to-day, my Pet," said Trotty. 
"Steps in dry weather. Post in wet. There's a 
greater conveniency in the steps at all times, be- 
cause of the sitting down; but they're rheumatic 
in the damp." 

"Then here," said Meg, clapping her hands, 
after a moment's bustle; "here it is, all ready! 
And beautiful it looks! Come, father. Come!" 

Since his discovery of the contents of the basket, 
Trotty had been standing looking at her — and 
had been speaking too — in an abstracted manner, 
which showed that though she was the object of 
his thoughts and eyes, to the exclusion even of 
tripe, he neither saw nor thought about her as she 
was at that moment, but had before him some 

[51] 



THE CHIMES 

imaginary rough sketch or drama of her future 
life. Roused, now, by her cheerful summons, he 
shook off a melancholy shake of the head which 
was just coming upon him, and trotted to her side. 
As he was stooping to sit down, the Chimes rang. 

"Amen!" said Trotty, pulling off his hat and 
looking up towards them. 

"Amen to the Bells, father.?" cried Meg. 

"They broke in like a grace, my dear," said 
Trotty, taking his seat. "They'd say a good one, 
I am sure, if they could. Many's the kind thing 
they say to me." 

"The Bells do, father!" laughed Meg, as she 
set the basin, and a knife and fork, before him. 
"Well!" 

"Seem to, my Pet," said Trotty, falling to with 
great vigour. "And where's the difference.? If 
I hear 'em, what does it matter whether they 
speak it or not.? Why bless you, my dear," said 
Toby, pointing at the tower with his fork, and 
becoming more animated under the influence of 
dinner, "how often have I heard them bells say, 

[52] 



THE CHIMES 

*Toby Veck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart, 
Toby ! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart, 
Toby!' A million times? More!" 

*'Well, I never!" cried Meg. 

She had, though — over and over again. For 
it was Toby's constant topic. 

*'When things is very bad," said Trotty; "very 
bad indeed, I mean; almost at the worst; then it's 
'Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby! 
Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby!' 
That way." 

"And it comes — at last, father," said Meg, 
with a touch of sadness in her pleasant voice. 

"Always," answered the unconscious Toby. 
"Never fails." 

While this discourse was holding, Trotty made 
no pause in his attack upon the savoury meat be- 
fore him, but cut and ate, and cut and drank, and 
cut and chewed, and dodged about, from tripe to 
hot potato, and from hot potato back again to 
tripe, with an unctuous and unjflagging relish. 
But happening now to look all around the street — 

[53] 



THE CHIMES 

in case anybody should be beckoning from any 
door or window, for a porter — his eyes, in com- 
ing back again, encountered Meg: sitting opposite 
to him, with her arms folded: and only busy in 
watching his progress with a smile of happiness. 

*'Why, Lord forgive me!" said Trotty, drop- 
ping his knife and fork. "My dove! Meg! why 
didn't you tell me what a beast I was.?" 

"Father.?" 

*' Sitting here," said Trotty, in penitent explana- 
tion, "cramming, and stuflSng, and gorging my- 
self; and you before me there, never so much as 
breaking your precious fast, nor wanting to, 
when " 

*'But I have broken it, father," interposed his 
daughter, laughing, "all to bits. I have had my 
dinner." 

"Nonsense," said Trotty. "Two dinners in 
one day! It an't possible! You might as well 
tell me that two New Year's Days will come 
together, or that I have had a gold head all my 
life, and never changed it." 

[54] 



THE CHIMES 

*'I have had my dinner, father, for all that,*' 
said Meg, coming nearer to him. "And if you'll 
go on with yours, I'll tell you how and where; and 
how your dinner came to be brought; and — and 
something else besides." 

Toby still appeared incredulous; but she looked 
into his face with her clear eyes, and laying her 
hand upon his shoulder, motioned him to go on 
while the meat was hot. So Trotty took up his 
knife and fork again, and went to work. But 
much more slowly than before, and shaking his 
head, as if he were not at all pleased with himself. 

"I had my dinner, father," said Meg, after a 
little hesitation, "with — with Richard. His din- 
ner-time was early; and as he brought his 
dinner with him when he came to see me, we — 
we had it together, father." 

Trotty took a little beer, and smacked his lips. 
Then he said, "Oh!" — because she waited. 

"And Richard says, father — " Meg resumed. 
Then stopped. 

"What does Richard say, Meg.?" asked Toby. 
[55] 



THE CHIMES 

"Richard says, father — " Another stoppage. 

"Richard's a long time saying it," said Toby. 

"He says then, father," Meg continued, Hfting 
up her eyes at last, and speaking in a tremble, but 
quite plainly; "another year is nearly gone, and 
where is the use of waiting on from year to year, 
when it is so unlikely we shall ever be better off 
than we are now ? He says we are poor now, 
father, and we shall be poor then, but we are 
young now, and years will make us old before we 
know it. He says that if we wait: people in our 
condition: until we see our way quite clearly, the 
way will be a narrow one indeed — the common 
way — the Grave, father." 

A bolder man than Trotty Veck must needs 
have drawn upon his boldness largely, to deny it. 

Trotty held his peace. 

"And how hard, father, to grow old, and die, 
and think we might have cheered and helped each 
other! How hard in all our lives to love each 
other; and to grieve, apart, to see each other 
working, changing, growing old and grey. Even 

[56] 



THE CHIMES 

if I got the better of it, and forgot him (which I 
never could), oh father dear, how hard to have a 
heart so full as mine is now, and live to have it 
slowly drained out every drop, without the recol- 
lection of one happy moment of a woman's life, 
to stay behind and comfort me, and make me 
better!" 

Trotty sat quite still. Meg dried her eyes, and 
said more gaily: that is to say, with here a laugh, 
and there a sob, and here a laugh and sob together: 

"So Richard says, father; as his work was yes- 
terday made certain for some time to come, and 
as I love him, and have loved him full three years 
— ah ! longer than that, if he knew it ! — will I 
marry him on New Year's Day; the best and 
happiest day, he says, in the whole year, and one 
that is almost sure to bring good fortune with it. 
It's a short notice, father — isn't it ? — but I 
haven't my fortune to be settled, or my wedding 
dresses to be made, like the great ladies, father, 
have I ? And he said so much, and said it in his 
way; so strong and earnest, and all the time so 

[57] 



THE CHIMES 

kind and gentle; that I said I'd come and talk to 
you, father. And as they paid the money for that 
work of mine this morning (unexpectedly, I am 
sure!) and as you have fared very poorly for a 
whole week, and as I couldn't help wishing there 
should be something to make this day a sort of 
holiday to you as well as a dear and happy day to 
me, father, I made a little treat and brought it to 
surprise you.'* 

"And see how he leaves it cooling on the step!" 
said another voice. 

It was the voice of this same Richard, who had 
come upon them unobserved, and stood before 
the father and daughter; looking down upon them 
with a face as glowing as the iron on which his 
stout sledge-hammer daily rung. A handsome, 
well-made, powerful youngster he was; with eyes 
that sparkled like the red-hot droppings from a 
furnace fire; black hair that curled about his 
swarthy temples rarely ; and a smile — a smile that 
bore out Meg's eulogium on his style of conversa- 
tion. 

[58] 



THE CHIMES 

"See how he leaves it cooHng on the step!" said 
Richard. *'Meg don't know what he Hkes. Not 
she!" 

Trotty, all action and enthusiasm, immediately 
reached up his hand to Richard, and was going 
to address him in a great hurry, when the house- 
door opened without any warning, and a footman 
very nearly put his foot into the tripe. 

"Out of the vays here, will you! You must 
always go and be a-settin on our steps, must you! 
You can't go and give a turn to none of the neigh- 
bours never, can't you! Will you clear the road, 
or won't you .?" 

Strictly speaking, the last question was irrele- 
vant, as they had already done it. 

"What's the matter, what's the matter!" said 
the gentleman for whom the door was opened; 
coming out of the house at that kind of light-heavy 
pace — that peculiar compromise between a walk 
and a jog-trot — with which a gentleman upon 
the smooth down-hill of life, wearing creaking 
boots, a watch-chain, and clean linen, may come 

[59] 



THE CHIMES 



out of his house: not only without any abatement 
of his dignity, but with an expression of having 
important and wealthy engage- 
ments elsewhere. '* What's the 
matter! What's the matter!" 

"You're always a-being beg- 
ged, and prayed, upon your 
bended knees you are," said the 
footman with great emphasis to 
Trotty Veck, "to let our door- 
steps be. Why don't you let 
'em he? Can't you let 'em 
be?" 

"There! That'll do, that'll do!" said the 
gentleman. "Halloa there! Porter!" beckoning 
with his head to Trotty Veck. "Come here. 
What's that ? Your dinner ? ' ' 

"Yes, sir," said Trotty, leaving it behind him 
in a corner. 

" Don't leave it there," exclaimed the gentleman. 
"Bring it here, bring it here. So! This is your 
dinner, is it.^" 

[60] 




THE CHIMES 

*'Yes, sir," repeated Trotty, looking with a 
fixed eye and a watery mouth, at the piece of 
tripe he had reserved for a last delicious tit-bit; 
which the gentleman was now turning over and 
over on the end of the fork. 

Two other gentlemen had come out with him. 
One was a low-spirited gentleman of middle age, 
of a meagre habit, and a disconsolate face; who 
kept his hands continually in the pockets of his 
scanty pepper-and-salt trousers, very large and 
dog's eared from that custom; and was not par- 
ticularly well brushed or washed. The other, a 
full-sized, sleek, well-conditioned gentleman, in 
a blue coat with bright buttons, and a white 
cravat. This gentleman had a very red face, as 
if an undue proportion of the blood in his body 
were squeezed up into his head; which perhaps 
accounted for his having also the appearance of 
being rather cold about the heart. 

He who had Toby's meat upon the fork, called 
to the first one by the name of Filer; and they both 
drew near together. Mr. Filer being exceedingly 

[61] 



THE CHIMES 

short-sighted, was obHged to go so close to the 
remnant of Toby's dinner before he could make 
out what it was, that Toby's heart 
leaped up into his mouth. But 
Mr. Filer didn't eat it. 

"This is a description of ani- 
mal food. Alderman," said Filer, 
making little punches in it with a 
pencil-case, *' commonly known to 
the labouring population of this 
country, by the name of tripe." 
The Alderman laughed, and 
winked; for he was a merry fellow, Alderman 
Cute. Oh, and a sly fellow too! A knowing 
fellow. Up to everything. Not to be imposed 
upon. Deep in the people's hearts! He knew 
them. Cute did. I believe you! 

"But who eats tripe .^" said Mr. Filer, looking 
round. "Tripe is without an exception the least 
economical, and the most wasteful article of con- 
sumption that the markets of this country can by 
possibility produce. The loss upon a pound of 

[62] 




THE CHIMES 

tripe has been found to be, in the boihng, seven- 
eights of a fifth more than the loss upon a pound 
of any other animal substance whatever. Tripe 
is more expensive, properly understood, than 
the hothouse pine-apple. Taking into account the 
number of animals slaughtered yearly within the 
bills of mortality alone; and forming a low esti- 
mate of the quantity of tripe which the carcases of 
those animals, reasonably well butchered, would 
yield ; I find that the waste on that amount of tripe, 
if boiled, would victual a garrison of five hundred 
men for five months of thirty-one days each, and 
a February over. The Waste, the Waste!" 

Trotty stood aghast, and his legs shook under 
him. He seemed to have starved a garrison of 
five hundred men with his own hand. 

"Who eats tripe .^" said Mr. Filer, warmly. 
"Who eats tripe?" 

Trotty made a miserable bow. 

"You do, do you .?" said Mr. Filer. "Then I'll 
tell you something. You snatch your tripe, my 
friend, out of the mouths of widows and orphans." 

[63] 



THE CHIMES 

"I hope not, sir," said Trotty, faintly. "I'd 
sooner die of want!" 

"Divide the amount of tripe before-mentioned, 
Alderman," said Mr. Filer, "by the estimated 
number of existing widows and orphans, and the 
result will be one pennyweight of tripe to each. 
Not a grain is left for that man. Consequently, 
he's a robber." 

Trotty was so shocked, that it gave him no con- 
cern to see the Alderman finish the tripe himself. 
It was a relief to get rid of it, anyhow. 

"And what do you say.^" asked the Alderman, 
jocosely, of the red-faced gentleman in the blue 
coat. "You have heard friend Filer. What do 
you say.^" 

"What's it possible to say.^" returned the 
gentleman. "What is to be said .'^ Who can 
take any interest in a fellow like this," meaning 
Trotty; "in such degenerate times as these.? 
Look at him. W^hat an object! The good old 
times, the grand old times, the great old times! 
Those were the times for a bold peasantry, and all 

[64] 



THE CHIMES 

that sort of thing. Those were the times for 
every sort of thing, in fact. There's nothing now- 
a-days. Ah!" sighed the red-faced gentleman. 
"The good old times, the good old times!" 

The gentleman didn't specify what particular 
times he alluded to; nor did he say whether he 
objected to the present times, from a disinterested 
consciousness that they had done nothing very 
remarkable in producing himself. 

"The good old times, the good old times," 
repeated the gentleman. " What times they were ! 
They were the only times. It's of no use talking 
about any other times, or discussing what the 
people are in these times. You don't call these, 
times, do you ? I don't. Look into Strutt's 
Costumes, and see what a Porter used to be, in 
any of the good old English reigns." 

"He hadn't, in his very best circumstances, a 
shirt to his back, or a stocking to his foot; and 
there was scarcely a vegetable in all England for 
him to put into his mouth," said Mr. Filer. "I 
can prove it, by tables." 

[65] 






THE CHIMES 

But still the red-faced gentleman extolled the 
good old times, the grand old times, the great old 
times. No matter what anybody else said, he 
still went turning round and round in one set form 
of words concerning them ; as a poor squirrel turns 
and turns in its revolving cage; touching the 
mechanism, and trick of which, it has probably 
quite as distinct perceptions, as ever this red-faced 
gentleman had of his deceased Millennium. 

It is possible that poor Trotty's faith in these 
very vague Old Times was not entirely destroyed, 
for he felt vague enough, at that moment. One 
thing, however, was plain to him, in the midst of 
his distress; to wit, that however these gentlemen 
might differ in details, his misgivings of that 
morning, and of many other mornings, were well 
founded. "No, no. We can't go right or do 
right," thought Trotty in despair. "There is no 
good in us. We are born bad !" 

But Trotty had a father's heart within him; 
which had somehow got into his breast in spite of 
this decree ; and he could not bear that Meg, in the 

[66] 



THE CHIMES 

blush of her brief joy, should have her fortune 
read by these wise gentlemen. "God help her," 
thought poor Trotty. *'She will know it soon 
enough." 

He anxiously signed, therefore, to the young 
smith, to take her away. But he was so busy, 
talking to her softly at a little distance, that he only 
became conscious of this desire, simultaneously 
with Alderman Cute. Now, the Alderman had 
not yet had his say, but he was a philosopher, too — 
practical, though ! Oh, very practical — and, as 
he had no idea of losing any portion of his audience, 
he cried "Stop!" 

"Now, you know," said the Alderman, address- 
ing his two friends, with a self-complacent smile 
upon his face which was habitual to him, "I am 
a plain man, and a practical man; and I go to work 
in a plain practical way. That's my way. There 
is not the least mystery or diflSculty in dealing with 
this sort of people if you only understand 'em, and 
can talk to 'em in their own manner. Now, you 
Porter! Don't you ever tell me, or anybody else, 

[67] 



J 



THE CHIMES 

my friend, that you haven't always enough to eat, 
and of the best; because I know better. I have 
tasted your tripe, you know, and you can't 'chaff' 
me. You understand what 'chaff' means, eh? 
That's the right word, isn't it.? Ha, ha, ha! 
Lord bless you," said the Alderman, turning to his 
friends again, "it's the easiest thing on earth to 
deal with this sort of people, if you understand 
em. 

Famous man for the common people. Alderman 
Cute! Never out of temper with them! Easy, 
affable, joking, knowing gentleman! 

"You see, my friend," pursued the Alderman, 
"there's a great deal of nonsense talked about 
Want — 'hard up,' you know; that's the phrase, 
isn't it ? ha ! ha ! ha ! — and I intend to Put it 
Down. There's a certain amount of cant in 
vogue about Starvation, and I mean to Put it 
Down. That's all! Lord bless you," said the 
Alderman, turning to his friends again, "you may 
Put Down anything among this sort of people, 
if you only know the way to set about it." 

[68] 



THE CHIMES 

Trotty took Meg's hand and drew it through 
his arm. He didn't seem to know what he was 
doing though. 

"Your daughter, eh.?" said the Alderman, 
chucking her famiharly under the chin. 

Always affable with the working classes, Alder- 
man Cute! Knew what pleased them! Not a 
bit of pride! 

"Where's her mother.?" asked that worthy 
gentleman. 

"Dead," said Toby. "Her mother got up 
linen; and was called to Heaven when She was 
born." 

"Not to get up linen there^ I suppose," remarked 
the Alderman pleasantly. 

Toby might or might not have been able to 
separate his wife in Heaven from her old pursuits. 
But query: If Mrs. Alderman Cute had gone to 
Heaven, would Mr. Alderman Cute have pictured 
her as holding any state or station there ? 

"And you're making love to her, are you .?" said 
Cute to the young smith. 

[69] 



THE CHIMES 

"Yes," returned Richard quickly, for he was 
nettled by the question. "And we are going to be 
married on New Year's Day." 

"What do you mean!" cried Filer sharply. 
"Married!" 

"Why, yes, we're thinking of it, Master," said 
Richard. "We're rather in a hurry, you see, in 
case it should be Put Down first." 

"Ah!" cried Filer, with a groan. "Put that 
down indeed, Alderman, and you'll do something. 
Married! Married! ! The ignorance of the first 
principles of political economy on the part of these 
people; their improvidence; their wickedness; is, 
by Heavens ! enough to — Now look at that couple, 
will you!" 

W^ell ? They were worth looking at. And mar- 
riage seemed as reasonable and fair a deed as 
they need have in contemplation. 

"A man may live to be as old as Methuselah," 
said Mr. Filer, "and may labour all his life for the 
benefit of such people as those; and may heap up 
facts on figures, facts on figures, facts on figures, 

[70] 



THE CHIMES 

mountains high and dry; and he can no more hope 
to persuade 'em that they have no right or business 
to be married, than he can hope to persuade 'em 
that they have no earthly right or business to be 
born. And that we know they haven't. We 
reduced it to a mathematical certainty long 
ago! 

Alderman Cute was mightily diverted, and laid 
his right forefinger on the side of his nose, as much 
as to say to both his friends, ''Observe me, will 
you! Keep your eye on the practical man!" — 
and called Meg to him. 

"Come here, my girl!" said Alderman Cute. 

The young blood of her lover had been mount- 
ing, wrathfully, within the last few minutes; and 
he was indisposed to let her come. But, setting a 
constraint upon himself, he came forward with a 
stride as Meg approached, and stood beside her. 
Trotty kept her hand within his arm still, but 
looked from face to face as wildly as a sleeper in a 
dream. 

"Now, I'm going to give you a word or two of 
[71] 



THE CHIMES 

good advice, my girl," said the Alderman, in his 
nice easy way. "It's my place to give advice, you 
know, because I'm a Justice. You know I'm a 
Justice, don't you .^" 

Meg timidly said, '* Yes." But everybody knew 
Alderman Cute was a justice! Oh dear, so active 
a Justice always! Who such a mote of brightness 
in the public eye, as Cute ! 

"You are going to be married, you say," pur- 
sued the Alderman. "Very unbecoming and in- 
delicate in one of your sex ! But never mind that. 
After you are married, you'll quarrel with you 
husband and come to be a distressed wife. You 
may think not; but you will, because I tell you so. 
Now, I give you fair warning, that I have made 
up my mind to Put distressed wives Down. So, 
don't be brought before me. You'll have children 
— boys. Those boys will grow up bad, of course, 
and run wild in the streets, without shoes and 
stockings. Mind, my young friend! I'll convict 
'em summarily, every one, for I am determined 
to Put boys without shoes and stockings, Down. 

[72] 



THE CHIMES 

Perhaps your husband will die young (most likely) 
and leave you with a baby. Then you'll be turned 
out of doors, and wander up and down the streets. 
Now, don't wander near me, my dear, for I am 
resolved to Put all wandering mothers Down. All 
young mothers, of all sorts and kinds, it's my deter- 
mination to Put Down. Don't think to plead 
illness as an excuse with me ; or babies as an excuse 
with me ; for all sick persons and young children (I 
hope you know the church-service, but I'm afraid 
not) I am determined to Put Down. And if you 
attempt, desperately, and ungratefully, and im- 
piously, and fradulently attempt, to drown your- 
self, or hang yourself, I'll have no pity for you, 
for I have made up my mind to Put all suicide 
Down! If there is one thing," said the Alderman, 
with his self-satisfied smile, "on which I can be 
said to have made up my mind more than on 
another, it is to Put suicide Down. So don't try 
it on. That's the phrase, isn't it.^ Ha, ha! now 
we understand each other." 

Toby knew not whether to be agonised or glad, 
[73] 



THE CHIMES 

to see that Meg had turned a deadly white, and 
dropped her lover's hand. 

"And as for you, you dull dog," said the Alder- 
man, turning with even increased cheerfulness and 
urbanity to the young smith, "what are you think- 
ing of being married for? What do you want to 
be married for, you silly fellow ? If I was a fine, 
young, strapping chap like you, I should be 
ashamed of being milksop enough to pin myself 
to a woman's apron-strings! Why, she'll be 
an old woman before you're a middle-aged 
man! And a pretty figure you'll cut then, 
with a draggletailed wife and a crowd of squall- 
ing children crying after you wherever you 
go!" 

O, he knew how to banter the common people. 
Alderman Cute! 

"There! Go along with you," said the Alder- 
man, "and repent. Don't make such a fool of 
yourself as to get married on New Year's Day. 
You'll think very differently of it, long before 
next New Year's Day: a trim young fellow like 

[74] 



THE CHIMES 

you, with all the girls looking after you. There! 
Go along with you!" 

They went along. Not arm in arm, or hand in 
hand, or interchanging bright glances; but, she in 
tears; he, gloomy and down-looking. Were these 
the hearts that had so lately made old Toby's leap 
up from its faintness ? No, no. The iVlderman (a 
blessing on his head!) had Put them Down. 

*'As you happen to be here," said the Alderman 
to Toby, *'you shall carry a letter for me. Can 
you be quick.? You're an old man." 

Toby, who had been looking after Meg, quite 
stupidly, made shift to murmur out that he was 
very quick, and very strong. 

"How old are you.?" inquired the Alderman. 

*'I'm over sixty, sir," said Toby. 

*'0! This man's a great deal past the average 
age, you know," cried Mr. Filer, breaking in as 
if his patience would bear some trying, but this 
really was carrying matters a little too far. 

*'I feel I'm intruding, sir," said Toby. "I — 
I misdoubted it this morning. Oh dear me!" 

[75] 



THE CHIMES 

The Alderman cut him short by giving him 
the letter from his pocket. Toby would have got 
a shilling too; but Mr. Filer clearly showing that 
in that case he would rob a certain given number 
of persons of ninepence-halfpenny a-piece, he only 
got sixpence; and thought himself very well off to 
get that. 

Then the Alderman gave an arm to each of his 
friends, and walked off in high feather; but, he 
immediately came hurrying back alone, as if he 
had forgotten something. 

"Porter!" said the Alderman. 

"Sir!" said Toby. 

"Take care of that daughter of yours. She's 
much too handsome." 

"Even her good looks are stolen from somebody 
or other, I suppose," thought Toby, looking at the 
sixpence in his hand, and thinking of the tripe. 
"She's been and robbed five hundred ladies of a 
bloom a-piece, I shouldn't wonder. It's very 
dreadful!" 

" She's much too handsome, my man," repeated 
[76] 



THE CHIMES 

the Alderman. "The chances are, that she'll 
come to no good, I clearly see. Observe what I 
say. Take care of her!" With which, he hurried 
off again. 

"Wrong every way. Wrong every w^ay!" said 
Trotty, clasping his hands. "Born bad. No 
business here!" 

The Chimes came clashing in upon him as he 
said the words. Full, loud, and sounding — but 
with no encouragement. No, not a drop. 

"The tune's changed," cried the old man, as he 
listened. "There's not a word of all that fancy 
in it. Why should there be ? I have no business 
with the New Year nor with the old one neither. 
Let me die!" 

Still the Bells, pealing forth their changes, made 
the very air spin. Put 'em down. Put 'em down! 
Good old Times, Good old Times! Facts and 
Figures, Facts and Figures! Put 'em down. Put 
'em down! If they said anything they said this, 
until the brain of Toby reeled. 

He pressed his bewildered head between his 
[77] 



THE CHIMES 

hands, as if to keep it from splitting asunder. A 
well-timed action, as it happened; for finding the 
letter in one of them, and being by that means 
reminded of his charge, he fell, mechanically, into 
his usual trot, and trotted ojff. 




[78] 




THE SECOND QUARTER 

^TT^HE letter Toby had received 
■^ from Alderman Cute, was 
addressed to a great man in the 
great district of the town. The greatest district 
of the town. It must have been the greatest dis- 
trict of the town, because it was commonly called 
"the world" by its inhabitants. 

The letter positively seemed heavier in Toby's 
hand, than another letter. Not because the Alder- 
man had sealed it with a very large coat of arms 
and no end of wax, but because of the weighty 
name on the superscription, and the ponderous 
amount of gold and silver with which it was 
associated. 

"How different from us!" thought Toby, in all 
simplicity and earnestness, as he looked at the 
direction. "Divide the lively turtles in the bills 
of mortality, by the number of gentlefolks able to 

[79] 



THE CHIMES 

buy 'em; and whose share does he take but his 
own! As to snatching tripe from anybody's 
mouth — he'd scorn it!" 

With the involuntary homage due to such an 
exalted character, Toby interposed a corner of 
his apron between the letter and his fingers. 

"His children," said Trotty, and a mist rose 
before his eyes; "his daughters — Gentlemen may 
win their hearts and marry them; they may be 
happy wives and mothers; they may be handsome 
like my darling M — e — " 

He couldn't finish the name. The final letter 
swelled in his throat, to the size of the whole 
alphabet. 

"Never mind," thought Trotty. "I know what 
i mean. That's more than enough for me." 
And with this consolatory rumination, trotted on. 

It was a hard frost, that day. The air was 
bracing, crisp, and clear. The wintry sun, though 
powerless for warmth, looked brightly down upon 
the ice it was too weak to melt, and set a radiant 
glory there. At other times, Trotty might have 

[80] 



THE CHIMES 

learned a poor man's lesson from the wintry sun; 
but, he was past that, now. 

The Year was Old, that day. The patient Year 
had lived through the reproaches and misuses of 
its slanderers, and faithfully performed its work. 
Spring, summer, autumn, winter. It had laboured 
through the destined round, and now laid down 
its weary head to die. Shut out from hope, high 
impulse, active happiness, itself, but active mes- 
senger of many joys to others, it made appeal in 
its decline to have its toiling days and patient 
hours remembered, and to die in peace. Trotty 
might have read a poor man's allegory in the fading 
year; but he was past that, now. 

And only he ? Or has the like appeal been ever 
made, by seventy years at once upon an English 
labourer's head, and made in vain! 

The streets were full of motion, and the shops 
were decked out gaily. The New Year, like an 
Infant Heir to the whole world, was waited for, 
with welcomes, presents, and rejoicings. There 
were books and toys for the New Year, glittering 

[81] 



"THTrCHIMES 

trinkets for the New Year, dresses for the New 
Year, schemes of fortune for the New Year; new 
inventions to beguile it. Its Hfe was parcelled 
out in almanacks and pocket-books; the coming 
of its moons, and stars, and tides, was known 
beforehand to the moment; all the workings of 
its seasons in their days and nights, were cal- 
culated with as much precision as Mr. Filer could 
work sums in men and women. 

The New Year, the New Year. Everywhere 
the New Year! The Old Year was already looked 
upon as dead; and its effects were selling cheap, 
like some drowned mariner's aboardship. Its 
patterns were Last Year's, and going at a sacrifice, 
before its breath was gone. Its treasures were 
mere dirt, beside the riches of its unborn suc- 
cessor ! 

Trotty had no portion, to his thinking, in the 
New Year or the Old. 

**Put 'em down, Put 'em down! Facts and 
Figures, Facts and Figures! Good old Times, 
Good old Times! Put 'em down, Put 'em down!" 

[82] 



THE CHIMES 

— his trot went to that measure, and would fit 
itself to nothing else. 

But, even that one, melancholy as it was, 
brought him, in due time, to the end of his jour- 
ney. To the mansion of Sir Joseph Bowley, 
Member of Parliament. 

The door was opened by a Porter. Such a 
Porter! Not of Toby's order. Quite another 
thing. His place was the ticket though; not 
Toby's. 

This Porter underwent some hard panting 
before he could speak; having breathed himself 
by coming incautiously out of his chair, without 
first taking time to think about it and compose his 
mind. When he had found his voice — which it 
took him a long time to do, for it was a long way 
off, and hidden under a load of meat — he said 
in a fat whisper, 

"Who's it from?" 

Toby told him. 

"You're to take it in, yourself," said the Porter, 
pointing to a room at the end of a long passage, 

[83] 



THE CHIMES 

opening from the hall. "Everything goes straight 
in, on this day of the year. You're not a bit too 
soon; for the carriage is at the door now, and they 
have only come to town for a couple of hours, 
a' purpose." 

Toby wiped his feet (which were quite dry 
already) with great care, and took the way pointed 
out to him; observing as he went that it was an 
awfully grand house, but hushed and covered up, 
as if the family were in the country. Knocking 
at the room-door, he was told to enter from within ; 
and doing so found himself in a spacious library, 
where, at a table strewn with files and papers, 
were a stately lady in a bonnet; and a not very 
stately gentleman in black who wrote from her 
dictation ; while another, and an older, and a much 
statelier gentleman, whose hat and cane were on 
the table, walked up and down, with one hand in 
his breast, and looked complacently from time to 
time at his own picture — a full length; a very full' 
length — hanging over the fireplace. 

"What is this.^" said the last-named gentle- 
[84] 



THE CHIMES 

man. "Mr. Fish, will you have the goodness to 
attend.?" 

Mr. Fish begged pardon, and taking the letter 
from Toby, handed it, with great respect. 

"From Alderman Cute, Sir Joseph." 

"Is this all.? Have you nothing else Porter.?" 
inquired Sir Joseph. 

Toby replied in the negative. 

"You have no bill or demand upon me — my 
name is Bowley, Sir Joseph Bowley — of any kind 
from anybody, have you.?" said Sir Joseph. "If 
you have, present it. There is a cheque-book 
by the side of Mr. Fish. I allow nothing to be 
carried into the New Year. Every description of 
account is settled in this house at the close of the 
old one. So that if death was to — to — " 

"To cut," suggested Mr. Fish. 

"To sever, sir," returned Sir Joseph, with great 
asperity, "the cord of existence — my affairs 
would be found, I hope, in a state of prepara- 
tion." 

"My dear Sir Joseph!" said the lady, who 
[85] 



THE CHIMES 

was greatly younger than the gentleman. "How 
shocking!" 

"My Lady Bowley," returned Sir Joseph, 
floundering now and then, as in the great depth 
of his observations, "at this season of the year 
we should think of — of — ourselves. We should 
look into our — our accounts. We should feel 
that every return of so eventful a period in 
human transactions, involves a matter of deep 
moment between a man and his — and his 
banker." 

Sir Joseph delievered these words as if he felt 
the full morality of what he was saying; and de- 
sired that even Trotty should have an opportunity 
of being improved by such discourse. Possibly 
lie had this end before him in still forbearing to 
break the seal of the letter, and in telling Trotty 
to wait where he was, a minute. 

"You were desiring Mr. Fish to say, my lady ^" 
observed Sir Joseph. 

"Mr. Fish has said that, I believe," returned 
his lady, glancing at the letter. "But, upon my 

[86] 



THE CHIMES 

word, Sir Joseph, I don't think I can let it go after 
all. It is so very dear." 

"What is dear,?" inquired Sir Joseph. 

"That Charity, my love. They only allow 
two votes for a subscription of five pounds. Really 
monstrous!" 

*'My lady Bowley," returned Sir Joseph, "you 
surprise me. Is the luxury of feeling in propor- 
tion to the number of votes; or is it, to a rightly 
constituted mind, in proportion to the number 
of applicants, and the wholesome state of mind 
to which their canvassing reduces them ? Is 
there no excitement of the purest kind in 
having two votes to dispose of among fifty 
people.?" 

"Not to me, I acknowledge," replied the lady. 
"It bores one. Besides, one can't oblige one's 
acquaintance. But you are the Poor Man's 
Friend, you know. Sir Joseph. You think other- 
wise." 

"I am the Poor Man's Friend," observed Sir 
Joseph, glancing at the poor man present. "As 

fsr^ 



THE CHIMES 

such I may be taunted. As such I have been 
taunted. But I ask no other title." 

"Bless him for a noble gentleman!" thought 
Trotty. 

*'I don't agree with Cute here, for instance," 
said Sir Joseph, holding out the letter. "I don't 
agree with the Filer party. I don't agree with any 
party. My friend the Poor Man has no business 
with anything of that sort, and nothing of that 
sort has any business with him. My friend the 
Poor Man, in my district, is my business. No 
man or body of men has any right to interfere 
between my friend and me. That is the ground 
I take. I assume a — a paternal character 
towards my friend. I say, 'My good fellow, I 
will treat you paternally.'" 

Toby listened with great gravity, and began to 
feel more comfortable. 

"Your only business, my good fellow," pursued 
Sir Joseph, looking abstractedly at Toby; "your 
only business in life is with me. You needn't 
trouble yourself to think about anything. I will 

[88] 



THE CHIMES 

think for you ; I know what is good for you ; I am 
your perpetual parent. Such is the dispensation 
of an all-wise Providence! Now, the design of 
your creation is — not that you should swill, and 
guzzle, and associate your enjoyments, brutally, 
with food;" Toby thought remorsefully of the 
tripe; "but that you should feel the Dignity of 
Labour. Go forth erect into the cheerful morn- 
ing air, and — and stop there. Live hard and 
temperately, be respectful, exercise your self- 
denial, bring up your family on next to nothing, 
pay your rent as regularly as the clock strikes, be 
punctual in your dealings (I set you a good ex- 
ample; you will find Mr. Fish, my confidential 
secretary, with a cash-box before him at all times) ; 
and you may trust to me to be your Friend and 
Father." 

" Nice children, indeed. Sir Joseph ! " said the lady, 
with a shudder. "Rheumatisms, and fevers, and 
crooked legs, and asthmas, and all kinds of horrors ! " 

"My lady," returned Sir Joseph, with solemnity, 
'*not the less am I the Poor Man's Friend and 

[89] 



THE CHIMES 

Father. Not the less shall he receive encourage- 
ment at my hands. Every quarter-day he will 
be put in communication with Mr. Fish. Every 
New Year's Day, myself and friends will drink 
his health. Once every year, myself and friends 
will address him with the deepest feeling. Once 
in his life, he may even perhaps receive; in pubUc, 
in the presence of the gentry; a Trifle from a 
Friend. And when, upheld no more by these 
stimulants, and the Dignity of Labour, he sinks 
into his comfortable grave, then, my lady" — 
here Sir Joseph blew his nose — *'I will be a 
Friend and a Father — on the same terms — to 
his children." 

Toby was greatly moved. 

*'0! You have a thankful family. Sir Joseph!" 
cried his wife. 

*' My lady," said Sir Joseph, quite majestically, 
"Ingratitude is known to be the sin of that class. 
I expect no other return." 

"Ah! Born bad!" thought Toby. "Nothing 
melts us." 

LMj 



THE CHIMES 

"What man can do, / do," pursued Sir Joseph. 
*'I do my duty as the Poor Man's Friend and 
Father; and I endeavour to educate his mind, by 
inculcating on all occasions the one great moral 
lesson which that class requires. That is, entire 
Dependence on myself. They have no business 
whatever with — with themselves. If wicked and 
designing persons tell them otherwise, and they 
become impatient and discontented, and are 
guilty of in subordinate conduct and black- 
hearted ingratitude; which is undoubtedly the 
case; I am their Friend and Father still. 
It is so Ordained. It is in the nature of 
things." 

With that great sentiment, he opened the 
Alderman's letter; and read it. 

"Very polite and attentive, I am sure!" ex- 
claimed Sir Joseph. "My lady, the Alderman is 
so obliging as to remind me that he has had *the 
distinguished honour ' — he is very good — of 
meeting me at the house of our mutual friend 
Deedles, the banker; and he does me the favour 

[91] 



THE CHIMES 

to inquire whether it will be agreeable to me to 
have Will Fern put down." 

'"Most agreeable!" replied my Lady Bowley. 
"The worst man among them! He has been 
committing a robbery, I hope?" 

"Why no," said Sir Joseph, referring to the 
letter. "Not quite. Very near. Not quite. He 
came up to London, it seems, to look for employ- 
ment (trying to better himself — that's his story), 
and being found at night asleep in a shed, was 
taken into custody, and carried next morning be- 
fore that Alderman. The Alderman observes 
(very properly) that he is determined to put this 
sort of thing down ; and that if it will be agreeable 
to me to have Will Fern put down, he will be 
happy to begin with him." 

" Let him be made an example of, by all means," 
returned the lady. "Last winter, when I intro- 
duced pinking and eyelet-holing among the men 
and boys in the village, as a nice evening employ- 
ment, and had the lines, 

[92] 



THE CHIMES 

O let us love our occupations, 
Bless the squire and his relations, 
Live upon our daily rations, 
And always know our proper stations, 

set to music on the new system, for them to sing 
the while ; this very Fern — I see him now — 
touched that hat of his, and said, 'I humbly ask 
your pardon, my lady, but ant I something dif- 
ferent from a great girl ? ' I expected it, of course ; 
who can expect anything but insolence and in- 
gratitude from that class of people! That is not 
to the purpose, however, Sir Joseph! Make an 
example of him!'* 

*'Hem!" coughed Sir Joseph. "Mr. Fish, if 
you'll have the goodness to attend — " 

Mr. Fish immediately seized his pen, and wrote 
from Sir Joseph's dictation. 

"Private. My dear Sir. I am very much 
indebted to you for your courtesy in the matter 
of the man William Fern, of whom, I regret to 
add, I can say nothing favourable. I have uni- 
formly considered myself in the light of his Friend 

[93] 



THE CHIMES 

and Father, but have been repaid (a common 
case, I grieve to say) with ingratitude, and con- 
stant opposition to my plans. He is a turbulent 
and rebellious spirit. His character will not bear 
investigation. Nothing will persuade him to be 
happy when he might. Under these circum- 
stances, it appears to me, I own, that when he 
comes before you again (as you informed me he 
promised to do to-morrow, pending your inquiries, 
and I think he may be so far relied upon), his 
committal for some short term as a Vagabond, 
would be a service to society, and would be a 
salutary example in a country where — for the 
sake of those who are, through good and evil 
report, the Friends and Fathers of the Poor, as 
well as with a view to that, generally speaking, 
misguided class themselves — examples are greatly 
needed. And I am," and so forth. 

"It appears," remarked Sir Joseph when he 
had signed this letter, and Mr. Fish was 
sealing it *'as if this were Ordained: really. 
At the close of the year, I wind up my account 

[94] 



THE CHIMES 

and strike my balance, even with William 
Fern!" 

Trotty, who had long ago relapsed, and was very 
low-spirited, stepped forward with a rueful face 
to take the letter. 

"With my compliments and thanks," said Sir 
Joseph. "Stop!" 

"Stop!" echoed Mr. Fish. 

"You have heard, perhaps," said Sir Joseph, 
oracularly, "certain remarks into which I have 
been led respecting the solemn period of time at 
which we have arrived, and the duty imposed 
upon us of settling our affairs, and being pre- 
pared. You have observed that I don't shelter 
myself behind my superior standing in society, 
but that Mr. Fish — that gentleman — has a 
cheque-book at his elbow, and is in fact here, to 
enable me to turn over a perfectly new leaf, and 
enter on the epoch before us with a clean account. 
Now, my friend, can you lay your hand upon your 
heart, and say, that you also have made prepara- 
tions for a New Year.?" 

[95] 



THE CHIMES 



"I am afraid, sir," stammered Trotty, looking 
meekly at him, "that I am a — a — little behind- 
hand with the world." 

*' Behind-hand with the world!" repeated Sir 

Joseph Bowley, in a tone of terrible distinctness. 

*'I am afraid, sir," faltered Trotty, "that 

there's a matter of ten or twelve shillings owing to 

Mrs. Chickenstalker." 

"To Mrs. Chickenstalker!" repeated Sir Joseph 
in the same tone as before. 

"A shop, sir," exclaimed Toby, 
" in the general line. Also a — a 
little money on account of rent. 
A very little, sir. It oughtn't to be 
owing, I know, but we have been 
hard put to it, indeed!" 

Sir Joseph looked at his lady, 
and at IVIr. Fish, and at Trotty, 
one after another, twice all round. 
He then made a despondent ges- 
ture with both hands at once, as if he gave the 
thing up altogether. 

[96] 




THE CHIMES 

"How a man, even among this improvident and 
impracticable race; an old man; a man grown 
grey; can look a New Year in the face, with his 
affairs in this condition; how he can lie down on 
his bed at night, and get up again in the morning, 
and — There!" he said, turning his back on 
Trotty. "Take the letter. Take the letter!" 

"I heartily wish it was otherwise, sir," said 
Trotty, anxious to excuse himself. "We have 
been tried very hard." 

Sir Joseph still repeating "Take the letter, take 
the letter!" and Mr. Fish not only saying the same 
thing, but giving additional force to the request 
by motioning the bearer to the door, he had nothing 
for it but to make his bow and leave the house. 
And in the street, poor Trotty pulled his worn old 
hat down on his head, to hide the grief he felt at 
getting no hold on the New Year, anywhere. 

He didn't even lift his hat to look up at the Bell 
tower when he came to the old church on his re- 
turn. He halted there a moment, from habit: 
and knew that it was growing dark, and that the 

[97] 



THE CHIMES 

steeple rose above him, indistinct and faint, in the 
murky air. He knew, too, that the Chimes 
would ring immediately; and that they sounded 
to his fancy, at such a time, like voices in the 
clouds. But he only made the more haste to 
deliver the Alderman's letter, and get out of the 
way before they began; for he dreaded to hear 
them tagging "Friends and Fathers, Friends and 
Fathers," to the burden they had rung out last. 

Toby discharged himself of his commission, 
therefore, with all possible speed, and set off trot- 
ting homeward. But what with his pace, which 
was at best an awkward one in the street ; and what 
with his hat, which didn't improve it; he trotted 
against somebody in less than no time, and was 
sent staggering out into the road. 

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure!" said Trotty, 
pulling up his hat in great confusion, and between 
'the hat and the torn lining, fixing his head into a 
kind of bee-hive. "I hope I haven't hurt you." 

As to hurting anybody, Toby was not such an 
absolute Samson, but that he was much more 

[98] 



THE CHIMES 

likely to be hurt himself : and indeed, he had flown 
out into the road, like a shuttlecock. He had such 
an opinion of his own strength, however, that he 
was in real concern for the other party: and said 
again, 

" I hope I haven't hurt you ? " 

The man against whom he had run; a sun- 
browned, sinewy, country-looking man, with griz- 
zled hair, and a rough chin; stared at him for 
a moment, as if he suspected him to be in jest. 
But, satisfied of his good faith, he answered: 

"No, friend. You have not hurt me." 

'*Nor the child, I hope.?" said Trotty. 

**Nor the child," returned the man. "I thank 
you kindly." 

As he said so, he glanced at a little girl he carried 
in his arms, asleep: and shading her face with the 
long end of the poor handkerchief he wore about 
his throat, went slowly on. 

The tone in which he said "I thank you kindly," 
penetrated Trotty's heart. He was so jaded and 
foot-sore, and so soiled with travel, and looked 

[99] ... 



THE CHIMES 

about him so forlorn and strange, that it was a 
comfort to him to be able to thank any one: no 
matter for how little. Toby stood gazing after 
him as he plodded wearily away, with the child's 
arm clinging round his neck. 

At the figure in the worn shoes — now the 
very shade and ghost of shoes — rough leather 
leggings, common frock, and broad slouched 
hat, Trotty stood gazing, blind to the whole street. 
And at the child's arm, clinging round its neck. 

Before he merged into the darkness the traveller 
stopped; and looking round, and seeing Trotty 
standing there yet, seemed undecided whether to 
return or go on. After doing first the one and 
then the other, he came back, and Trotty went 
half-way to meet him. 

"You can tell me, perhaps," said the man with 
a faint smile, "and if you can I am sure you will, 
and I'd rather ask you than another — where 
Alderman Cute lives." 

" Close at hand," replied Toby. "I'll show you 

his house with pleasure." 

[100] 



THE CHIMES 

**I was to have gone to him elsewhere to-mor- 
row," said the man, accompanying Toby, '*but I'm 
uneasy under suspicion, and want to clear myself, 
and to be free to go and seek my bread — I don't 
know where. So, maybe he'll forgive my going to 
his house to-night." 

"It's impossible," cried Toby with a start, 
"that your name's Fern!" 

"Eh!" cried the other, turning on him in aston- 
ishment. 

" Fern ! Will Fern ! " said Trotty. 

"That's my name," replied the other. 

"Why then," cried Trotty, seizing him by the 
arm, and looking cautiously round, "for Heaven's 
sake don't go to him! Don't go to him! He'll 
put you down as sure as ever you were born. 
Here! come up this alley, and I'll tell you what I 
mean. Don't go to him.''' 

His new acquaintance looked as if he thought 
him mad; but he bore him company neverthe- 
less. When they were shrouded from ob- 
servation, Trotty told him what he knew, and 

[101] 



THE CHIMES 

what character he had received, and all about 
it. 

The subject of his history listened to it with a 
calmness that surprised him. He did not con- 
tradict or interrupt it, once. He nodded his 
head now and then — more in corroboration of 
an old and worn-out story, it appeared, than 
in refutation of it; and once or twice threw back 
his hat, and passed his freckled hand over a 
brow, where every furrow he had ploughed seemed 
to have set its image in little. But he did no more. 

"It's true enough in the main," he said, "master, 
I could sift grain from husk here and there, but 
let it be as 'tis. What odds ? I have gone against 
his plans; to my misfortun'. I can't help it; I 
should do the like to-morrow. As to character, 
them gentlefolks will search and search, and pry 
and pry, and have it as free from spot or speck in 
us, afore they'll help us to a dry good word ! — 
Well! I hope they don't lose good opinion as easy 
as we do, or their lives is strict indeed, and hardly 
worth the keeping. For myself, master, I never 

[102] 




Here! come up this alley ^ and I'll tell you what I mean." 



THE CHIMES 

took with that hand" — holding it before him — 
"what wasn't my own; and never held it back from 
work, however hard, or poorly paid. Whoever 
can deny it, let him chop it off! But when work 
won't maintain me like a human creetur; when 
my living is so bad, that I am Hungry, out of doors 
and in; when I see a whole working life begin that 
way, go on that way, and end that way, without a 
chance or change; then I say to the gentlefolks 
*Keep away from me! Let my cottage be. My 
doors is dark enough without your darkening of 
'em more. Don't look for me to come up into 
the Park to help the show when there's a Birthday, 
or a fine Speechmaking, or what not. Act your 
Plays and Games without me, and be welcome to 
'em, and enjoy 'em. We've nowt to do with one 
another. I'm best let alone!"' 

Seeing that the child in his arms had opened her 
eyes, and was looking about her in wonder, he 
checked himself to say a word or two of foolish 
prattle in her ear, and stand her on the ground 
beside him. Then slowly winding one of her long 

[103] 



THE CHIMES 

tresses round and round his rough forefinger Hke 
a ring, while she hung about his dusty leg, he said 
to Trotty: 

"I'm not a cross-grained man by natur', I be- 
lieve; and easy satisfied, I'm sure. I bear no ill- 
will against none of 'em. I only want to live like 
one of the Almighty's creeturs. I can't — I don't 
— and so there's a pit dug between me, and them 
that can and do. There's others like me. You 
might tell 'em off by hundreds and by thousands, 
sooner than by ones." 

Trotty knew he spoke the Truth in this, and 
shook his head to signify as much. 

*'I've got a bad name this way," said Fern. 
**and I'm not likely, I'm afeared, to get a better. 
*Tan't lawful to be out of sorts, and I am out of 
sorts, though God knows I'd sooner bear a cheer- 
ful spirit if I could. Well! I don't know as this 
Alderman could hurt me much by sending me to 
jail; but without a friend to speak a word for me, 
he might do it; and you see — !" pointing down- 
ward with his finger, at the child. 

[104] 



THE CHIMES 

"She has a beautiful face," said Trotty. 

"Why yes!" replied the other in a low voice, 
as he gently turned it up with both his hands 
towards his own, and looked upon it steadfastly. 
"I've thought so, many times. I've thought so, 
when my hearth was very cold, and cupboard 
very bare. I thought so t'other night, when we 
were taken like two thieves. But they — they 
shouldn't try the little face too often, should they, 
Lilian .P That's hardly fair upon a man!" 

He sunk his voice so low, and gazed upon her 
with an air so stern and strange, that Toby, to 
divert the current of his thoughts, inquired if 
his wife were living. 

"I never had one," he returned, shaking his 
head. "She's my brother's child: a orphan. 
Nine year old, though you'd hardly think it; but 
she's tired and worn out now. They'd have 
taken care on her, the Union — eight-and -twenty 
mile away from where we live — between four 
walls (as they took care of my old father when he 
couldn't work no more, though he didn't trouble 

[105] 



THE CHIMES 

'em long); but I took her instead, and she's 
lived with me ever since. Her mother had a 
friend once, in London here. We are trying to 
find her, and to find work too; but it's a large 
place. Never mind. More room for us to walk 
about in, Lilly!" 

Meeting the child's eyes with a smile which 
melted Toby more than tears, he shook him by 
the hand. 

"I don't so much as know your name," he said, 
"but I've opened my heart free to you, for I'm 
thankful to you; with good reason. I'll take 
your advice, and keep clear of this — " 

"Justice," suggested Toby. 

*'Ah!" he said. "If that's the name they 
give him. This Justice. And to-morrow will 
try whether there's better fortun' to be met with, 
somewheres near London. Good night. A 
Happy New Year!" 

"Stay!" cried Trotty, catching at his hand, 
as he relaxed his grip. "Stay! The New Year 
never can be happy to me, if we part like this. 

[ 106] 



THE CHIMES 

The New Year can never be happy to me, if I 
see the child and you go wandering away, you 
don't know where, without shelter for your heads. 
Come home with me! I'm a poor man, living 
in a poor place; but I can give you lodging for 
one night and never miss it. Come home with 
me! Here! I'll take her!" cried Trotty, lift- 
ing up the child. "A pretty one! I'd carry 
twenty times her weight, and never know I'd 
got it. Tell me if I go too quick for you. I'm 
very fast. I always was!" Trotty said this, tak- 
ing about six of his trotting paces to one stride 
of his fatigued companion; and with his thin legs 
quivering again, beneath the load he bore. 

"Why, she's as light," said Trotty, trotting 
in his speech as well as in his gait; for he couldn't 
bear to be thanked, and dreaded a moment's 
pause; ''as light as a feather. Lighter than a 
Peacock's feather — a great deal lighter. Here 
we are and here we go! Round this first turning 
to the right. Uncle Will, and past the pump, and 
sharp off up the passage to the left, right oppo- 

[107] 



THE CHIMES 

site the public-house. Here we are and here we 
go! Cross over, Uncle Will, and mind the kid- 
ney pieman at the corner! Here we are and here 
we go! Down the Mews here, Uncle Will, and , 
stop at the black door, with *T. Veck, Ticket 
Porter,' wrote upon a board; and here we are 
and here we go, and here we are indeed, my 
precious Meg, surprising you!'* 

With which words Trotty, in a breathless state, 
set the child down before his daughter in the 
middle of the floor. The little visitor looked 
once at Meg; and doubting nothing in that face, 
but trusting everything she saw there; ran into 
her arms. 

"Here we are and here we go!" cried Trotty, 
running round the room, and choking audibly. 
"Here, Uncle Will, here's a fire you know! Why 
don't you come to the fire ? Oh here we are 
and here we go! Meg, my precious darling, 
where 's the kettle .? Here it is and here it goes, 
and it'll bile in no time!" 

Trotty really had picked up the kettle some- 
[108] 



THE CHIMES 

where or other in the course of his wild career, 
and now put it on the fire: while Meg, seating 
the child in a warm corner, knelt down on the 
ground before her, and pulled off her shoes, and 
dried her wet feet on a cloth. Ay, and she laughed 
at Trotty too — so pleasantly, so cheerfully, that 
Trotty could have blessed her where she kneeled; 
for he had seen that, when they entered, she was 
sitting by the fire in tears. 

"Why, father!" said Meg. "You're crazy 
to-night, I think. I don't know what the Bells 
would say to that. Poor little feet. How cold 
they are!" 

"Oh, they're warmer now!" exclaimed the 
child. "They're quite warm now!" 

"No, no, no," said Meg. "We haven't rubbed 
'em half enough. We're so busy. So busy! 
And when they're done, we'll brush out the damp 
hair; and when that's done, we'll bring some 
colour to the poor pale face with fresh water; 
and when that's done, we'll be so gay, and brisk, 

and happy — !" 

[109] 



THE CHIMES 

The child, in a burst of sobbing, clasped her 
round the neck; caressed her fair cheek with 
its hand; and said, "Oh Meg! oh dear Meg!" 

Toby's blessing could have done no more. 
Who could do more! 

"Why, father!" cried Meg, after a pause. 

"Here I am and here I go, my dear!" said 
Trotty. 

"Good Gracious me!" cried Meg. "He's 
crazy! He's put the dear child's bonnet on the 
kettle, and hung the lid behind the door!" 

"I didn't go for to do it, my love," said Trotty, 
hastily repairing this mistake. "Meg, my dear.^" 

Meg looked towards him and saw that he had 
elaborately stationed himself behind the chair 
of their male visitor, where with many mysterious 
gestures he was holding up the sixpence he had 
earned. 

"I see, my dear," said Trotty, "as I was com- 
ing in, half an ounce of tea lying somewhere on 
the stairs; and I'm pretty sure there was a bit 
of bacon too. As I don't remember where it 

[110] 



THE CHIMES 

was exactly, I'll go myself and try to find 



em. 



With this inscrutable artifice, Toby withdrew 
to purchase the viands he had spoken of, for 
ready money, at Mrs. Chickenstalker's ; and pres- 
ently came back, pretending he had not been 
able to find them, at first, in the dark. 

"But here they are at last," said Trotty, set- 
ting out the tea-things, "all correct! I was pretty 
sure it was tea, and a rasher. So it is. Meg, 
my pet, if you'll just make the tea, while your 
unworthy father toasts the bacon, we shall be 
ready, immediate. It's a curious circumstance," 
said Trotty, proceeding in his cookery, with the 
assistance of the toasting-fork, "curious, but 
well known to my friends, that I never care, 
myself, for rashers, nor for tea. I like to see 
other people enjoy 'em," said Trotty, speaking 
very loud, to impress the fact upon his guest, 
"but to me, as food, they're disagreeable." 

Yet Trotty sniffed the savour of the hissing 
bacon — ah! — as if he liked it; and when he 

[111] 



THE CHIMES 

poured the boiling water in the tea-pot, looked 
lovingly down into the depths of that snug caul- 
dron, and suffered the fragrant steam to curl 
about his nose, and wreathe his head and face 
in a thick cloud. However, for all this, he neither 
ate nor drank, except at the very beginning, a 
mere morsel for form's sake, which he appeared 
to eat with infinite relish, but declared was per- 
fectly uninteresting to him. 

No. Trotty's occupation was, to see Will 
Fern and Lilian eat and drink; and so was Meg's. 
And never did spectators at a city dinner or court 
banquet find such high delight in seeing others 
feast: although it were a monarch or a pope: as 
those two did, in looking on that night. Meg 
smiled at Trotty, Trotty laughed at Meg. Meg 
shook her head, and made belief to clap her 
hands, applauding Trotty; Trotty conveyed, in 
dumb-show, unintelligible narratives of how and 
when and where he had found their visitors, to 
Meg; and they were happy. Very happy. 

"Although," thought Trotty, sorrowfully, as 
[112] 



THE CHIMES 

he watched Meg's face; "that match is broken 
off, I see!" 

"Now, I'll tell you what," said Trotty, after 
tea. "The little one, she sleeps with Meg, I 
know." 

"With good Meg!" cried the child, caressing 
her. "With Meg." 

"That's right," said Trotty. "And I shouldn't 
wonder if she kiss Meg's father, won't she.? I'm 
Meg's father." 

Mightily delighted Trotty was, when the child 
went timidly towards him, and having kissed 
him, fell back upon Meg again. 

"She's as sensible as Solomon," said Trotty. 

"Here we come and here we — no, we don't 

I don't mean that — I — what was I saying, 
Meg, my precious .5^" 

Meg looked towards their guest, who leaned 
upon her chair, and with his face turned from 
her, fondled the child's head, half hidden in her 
lap. 

"To be sure," said Toby. "To be sure! I 
[113] 



THE CHIMES 

don't know what I'm rambling on about, to- 
night. My wits are wool-gathering, I think. 
Will Fern, you come along with me. You're 
tired to death, and broken down for want of rest. 
You come along with me." 

The man still played with the child's curls, 
still leaned upon Meg's chair, still turned away 
his face. He didn't speak, but in his rough 
coarse fingers, clenching and expanding in the 
fair hair of the child, there was an eloquence that 
said enough. 

*'Yes, yes," said Trotty, answering uncon- 
sciously what he saw expressed in his daughter's 
face. "Take her with you, Meg. Get her to 
bed. There! Now, Will, I'll show you where 
you lie. It's not much of a place: only a loft; 
but, having a loft, I always say, is one of the great 
conveniences of living in a mews; and till this 
coach-house and stable gets a better let, we live 
here cheap. There's plenty of sweet hay up 
there, belonging to a neighbour; and it's as 
clean as hands, and Meg, can make it. Cheer 

[114] 



THE CHIMES 

up! Don't give way. A new heart for a New 
Year, always!" 

The hand released from the child's hair, had 
fallen, trembling, into Trotty's hand. So Trotty, 
talking without intermission, led him out as 
tenderly and easily as if he had been a child him- 
self. 

Returning before Meg, he listened for an in- 
stant at the door of her little chamber; an adjoin- 
ing room. The child was murmuring a simple 
Prayer before lying down to sleep; and when 
she had remembered Meg's name, "Dearly, 
Dearly" — so her words ran — Trotty heard her 
stop and ask for his. 

It was some short time before the foolish little 
old fellow could compose himself to mend the 
fire, and draw his chair to the warm hearth. 
But, when he had done so, and had trimmed the 
light, he took his newspaper from his pocket, 
and began to read. Carelessly at first, and skim- 
ming up and down the columns; but with an 
earnest and a sad attention, very soon. 

[115] 



THE CHIMES 

For this same dreaded paper re-directed Trotty's 
thoughts into the channel they had taken all 
that day, and which the day's events had so marked 
out and shaped. His interest in the two wan- 
derers had set him on another course of think- 
ing, and a happier one, for the time; but being 
alone again, and reading of the crimes and vio- 
lences of the people, he relapsed into his former 
train. 

In this mood, he came to an account (and it 
was not the first he had ever read) of a woman 
who had laid her desperate hands not only on 
her own life but on that of her young child. A 
crime so terrible, and so revolting to his soul, 
dilated with the love of Meg, that he let the jour- 
nal drop, and fell back in his chair, appalled! 

"Unnatural and cruel!" Toby cried. "Un- 
natural and cruel! None but people who were 
bad at heart, born bad, who had no business on 
the earth, could do such deeds. It's too true, 
all I've heard to-day; too just, too full of proof. 

We're Bad!" 

[116] 



THE CHIMES 

The Chimes took up the words so suddenly — 
burst out so loud, and clear, and sonorous — that 
the Bells seemed to strike him in his chair. 

And what was that, they said? 

"Toby Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you, 
Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you, 
Toby! Come and see us, come and see us, Drag 
him to us, drag him to us. Haunt and hunt him, 
haunt and hunt him. Break his slumbers, break 
his slumbers! Toby Veck Toby Veck, door 
open wide Toby, Toby Veck Toby Veck, door 
open wide Toby—" then fiercely back to their 
impetuous strain again, and ringing in the very 
bricks and plaster on the walls. 

Toby listened. Fancy, fancy! His remorse 
for having run away from them that afternoon! 
No, no. Nothing of the kind. Again, again, 
and yet a dozen times again. "Haunt and hunt 
him, haunt and hunt him, Drag him to us, drag 
him to us!" Deafening the whole town! 

"Meg," said Trotty, softly: tapping at her 
door. "Do you hear anything.?" 

[117] 



THE CHIMES 

"I hear the Bells, father. Surely they're very 
loud to-night." 

"Is she asleep.'^" said Toby, making an excuse 
for peeping in. 

*'So peacefully and happily! I can't leave her 
yet though, father. Look how she holds my hand ! ' ' 

"Meg," whispered Trotty. "Listen to the 
Bells!" 

She listened, with her face towards him all the 
time. But it underwent no change. She didn't 
understand them. 

Trotty withdrew, resumed his seat by the fire, 
and once more listened by himself. He remained 
here a little time. 

It was impossible to bear it; their energy was 
dreadful. 

"If the tower-door is really open," said Toby, 
hastily laying aside his apron, but never thinking 
of his hat, "what's to hinder me from going up 
into the steeple and satisfying myself.'^ If it's 
shut, I don't want any other satisfaction. 
That's enough." 

[118] 




5^ 



^ 

> 






THE CHIMES 

He was pretty certain as he slipped out quietly 
into the street that he should find it shut and 
locked, for he knew the door well, and had so 
rarely seen it open, that he couldn't reckon above 
three times in all. It was a low arched portal, 
outside the church, in a dark nook behind a 
column; and had such great iron hinges, and 
such a monstrous lock, that there was more hinge 
and lock than door. 

But what was his astonishment when, coming 
bare-headed to the church; and putting his hand 
into this dark nook, with a certain misgiving that 
it might be unexpectedly seized, and a shivering 
propensity to draw it back again; he found that 
the door, which opened outwards, actually stood ajar! 

He thought, on the first surprise, of going back; 
or of getting a light, or a companion, but his 
courage aided him immediately, and he deter- 
mined to ascend alone. 

"What have I to fear.?" said Trotty. "It's 
a church! Besides, the ringers may be there, 
and have forgotten to shut the door." 

[119] 



THE CHIMES 

So he went in, feeling his way as he went, like 
a blind man; for it was very dark. And very 
quiet, for the Chimes were silent. 

The dust from the street had blown into the 
recess; and lying there, heaped up, made it so 
soft and velvet-like to the foot, that there was 
something startling, even in that. The narrow 
stair was so close to the door, too, that he stumbled 
at the very first; and shutting the door upon him- 
self, by striking it with his foot, and causing it 
to rebound back heavily, he couldn't open it 
again. 

This was another reason, however, for going 
on. Trotty groped his way, and went on. Up, 
up, up, and round, and round; and up, up, up; 
higher, higher, higher up! 

It was a disagreeable staircase for that groping 
work; so low and narrow, that his groping hand 
was always touching something; and it often 
felt so like a man or ghostly figure standing up 
erect and making room for him to pass without 
discovery, that he would rub the smooth wall 

[ 120 ] 



THE CHIMES 

upward searching for its face, and downward 
searching for its feet, while a chill tingling crept 
all over him. Twice or thrice, a door or niche 
broke the monotonous surface; and then it seemed 
a gap as wide as the whole church; and he 
felt on the brink of an abyss, and going to 
tumble headlong down, until he found the wall 
again. 

Still up, up, up; and round and round; and 
up, up, up; higher, higher, higher up! 

At length, the dull and stifling atmosphere 
began to freshen: presently to feel quite windy: 
presently it blew so strong, that he could hardly 
keep his legs. But, he got to an arched window 
in the tower, breast high, and holding tight, 
looked down upon the house-tops, on the smoking 
chimneys, on the blurr and blotch of lights (to- 
wards the place where Meg was wondering where 
he was and calling to him perhaps), all kneaded 
up together in a leaven of mist and dark- 
ness. 

This was the belfry, where the ringers came. 
[121] 



THE CHIMES 

He had caught hold of one of the frayed ropes 
which hung down through apertures in the oaken 
roof. At first he started, thinking it was hair; 
then trembled at the very thought of waking the 
deep Bell. The Bells themselves were higher. 
Higher, Trotty, in his fascination, or in working 
out the spell upon him, groped his way. By 
ladders now, and toilsomely, for it was steep, and 
not too certain holding for the feet. 

Up, up, up; and climb and clamber; up, up, 
up; higher, higher, higher up! 

Until, ascending through the floor, and pausing 
with his head just raised above its beams, he came 
among the Bells. It was barely possible to 
make out their great shapes in the gloom; but 
there they were. Shadowy, and dark, and 
dumb. 

A heavy sense of dread and loneliness fell 
instantly upon him, as he climbed into this airy 
nest of stone and metal. His head went round 
and round. He listened, and then raised a wild 

"Holloa!" 

[122] 



THE CHIMES 

Holloa! was mournfully protracted by the 
echoes. 

Giddy, confused, and out of breath, and fright- 
ened, Toby looked about him vacantly, and 
sunk down in a swoon. 




[123] 




THIRD QUARTER 



T3LACK are the brooding clouds and troubled 
the deep waters, when the Sea of Thought, 
first heaving from a calm, gives up its Dead. 
Monsters, uncouth and wild, arise in premature, 
imperfect resurrection; the several parts and 
shapes of different things are joined and mixed 
by chance; and when, and how, and by what 
wonderful degrees, each separates from each, and 
every sense and object of the mind resumes its 
usual form and lives again, no man — though 
every man is every day the casket of this type 
of the Great Mystery — can tell. 

So, when and how the darkness of the night- 
black steeple changed to shining light; when and 
how the solitary tower was peopled with a myriad 

[124] 



THE CHIMES 

figures; when and how the whispered "Haunt 
and hunt him," breathing monotonously through 
his sleep or swoon, became a voice exclaiming in 
the waking ears of Trotty, "Break his slumbers;" 
when and how he ceased to have a sluggish and 
confused idea that such things were, companion- 
ing a host of others that were not; there are no 
dates or means to tell. But, awake and standing 
on his feet upon the boards where he had lately 
lain, he saw this Goblin Sight. 

He saw the tower, whither his charmed foot- 
steps had brought him, swarming with dwarf 
phantoms, spirits, elfin creatures of the Bells. 
He saw them leaping, flying, dropping, pouring 
from the Bells without a pause. He saw them, 
round him on the ground; above him, in the air; 
clambering from him, by the ropes below; look- 
ing down upon him, from the massive iron-girded 
beams; peeping in upon him, through the chinks 
and loopholes in the walls; spreading away and 
away from him in enlarging circles, as the water 
ripples give way to a huge stone that suddenly 

[ 125 ] 



THE CHIMES 

comes splashing in among them. He saw them, 
of all aspects and all shapes. He saw them ugly, 
handsome, crippled, exquisitely formed. He saw 
them young, he saw them old, he saw them kind, 
he saw them cruel, he saw them merry, he saw 
them grim; he saw them dance, and heard them 
sing; he saw them tear their hair, and heard them 
howl. He saw the air thick with them. He saw 
them come and go, incessantly. He saw them 
riding downward, soaring upward, sailing off 
afar, perching near at hand, all restless and all 
violently active. Stone, and brick, and slate, and 
tile, became transparent to him as to them. He 
saw them in the houses, busy at the sleepers' 
beds. He saw them soothing people in their 
dreams; he saw them beating them with knotted 
whips; he saw them yelling in their ears; he saw 
them playing softest music on their pillows; he 
saw them cheering some with the songs of birds 
and the perfume of flowers; he saw them flash- 
ing awful faces on the troubled rest of others, from 
enchanted mirrors which they carried in their hands. 

[126] 



THE CHIMES 

He saw these creatures, not only among sleep- 
ing men, but waking also, active in pursuits ir- 
reconcilable with one another, and possessing 
or assuming natures the most opposite. He saw 
one buckling on innumerable wings to increase 
his speed; another loading himself with chains 
and weights, to retard his. He saw some putting 
the hands of clocks forward, some putting the 
hands of clocks backward, some endeavouring 
to stop the clock entirely. He saw them repre- 
senting, here a marriage ceremony, there a fu- 
neral; in this chamber an election, in that a ball; 
he saw, everywhere, restless and untiring motion. 

Bewildered by the host of shifting and extraor- 
dinary figures, as well as by the uproar of the 
Bells, which all this while were ringing, Trotty 
clung to a wooden pillar for support, and turned 
his white face here and there, in mute and stunned 
astonishment. 

As he gazed, the Chimes stopped. Instanta- 
neous change! The whole swarm fainted! their 
forms collapsed, their speed deserted them; they 

[127] 



THE CHIMES 

sought to fly, but in the act of falling died and 
melted into air. No fresh supply succeeded them. 
One straggler leaped down pretty briskly from 
the surface of the Great Bell, and alighted on 
his feet, but he was dead and gone before he could 
turn round. Some few of the late company who 
had gambolled in the tower, remained there, 
spinning over and over a little longer; but these 
became at every turn more faint, and few, and 
feeble, and soon went the way of the rest. The 
last of all was one small hunchback, who had 
got into an echoing corner, where he twirled and 
twirled, and floated by himself a long time; show- 
ing such perseverance, that at last he dwindled 
to a leg and even to a foot, before he finally re- 
tired; but he vanished in the end, and then the 
tower was silent. 

Then and not before, did Trotty see in every 
Bell a bearded figure of the bulk and stature of 
the Bell — incomprehensibly, a figure and the 
Bell itself. Gigantic, grave, and darkly watchful 
of him, as he stood rooted to the ground. 

[128] 



THE CHIMES 

Mysterious and awful figures! Resting on no- 
thing; poised in the night air of the tower, with 
their draped and hooded heads merged in the dim 
roof; motionless and shadowy. Shadowy and 
dark, although he saw them by some light be- 
longing to themselves — none else was there — 
each with its muffled hand upon its goblin mouth. 

He could not plunge down wildly through the 
opening in the floor; for all power of motion had 
deserted him. Otherwise he would have done 
so — aye, would have thrown himself, headfore- 
most, from the steeple-top, rather than have seen 
them watching him with eyes that would have 
waked and watched, although the pupils had 
been taken out. 

Again, again, the dread and terror of the lonely 
place, and of the wild and fearful night that 
reigned there, touched him like a spectral hand. 
His distance from all help; the long, dark, wind- 
ing, ghost-beleaguered way that lay between him 
and the earth on which men Hved; his being 
high, high, high up there, where it had made him 

[129] 



THE CHIMES 

dizzy to see the birds jfly in the day; cut off from 
all good people, who at such an hour were safe 
at home and sleeping in their beds; all this struck 
coldly through him, not as a reflection but a bod- 
ily sensation. Meantime his eyes and thoughts 
and fears were fixed upon the watchful figures; 
which, rendered unlike any figures of this world 
by the deep gloom and shade enwrapping and 
enfolding them, as well as by their looks and forms 
and supernatural hovering above the floor, were 
nevertheless as plainly to be seen as were the 
stalwart, oaken frames, cross-pieces, bars and 
beams, set up there to support the Bells. These 
hemmed them, in a very forest of hewn timber; 
from the entanglements, intricacies, and depths 
of which, as from among the boughs of a dead 
wood blighted for their phantom use, they kept 
their darksome and unwinking watch. 

A blast of air — how cold and shrill ! — came 
moaning through the tower. As it died away, 
the Great Bell, or the Goblin of the Great Bell, 

spoke. 

[130] 



THE CHIMES 

**What visitor is this!" it said. The voice was 
low and deep, and Trotty fancied that it sounded 
in the other figures as well. 

"I thought my name was called by the Chimes!" 
said Trotty, raising his hands in an attitude of 
supplication. *'I hardly know why I am here, 
or how I came. I have listened to the Chimes 
these many years. They have cheered me often." 

**And you have thanked them.?" said the Bell. 

**A thousand times!" cried Trotty. 

"How.?" 

**I am a poor man," faltered Trotty, "and could 
only thank them in words." 

"And always so?" inquired the Goblin of the 
Bell. "Have you never done us wrong in 
words?" 

"No!" cried Trotty eagerly. 

"Never done us foul, and false, and wicked 
wrong, in words?" pursued the Goblin of the 
Bell. 

Trotty was about to answer, "Never!" But 
he stopped, and was confused. 

[131] 



THE CHIMES 

"The voice of Time," said the Phantom, 
"cries to man. Advance! Time is for his advance- 
ment and improvement; for his greater worth, 
his greater happiness, his better Hfe; his progress 
onward to that goal within its knowledge and 
its view, and set there, in the period when Time 
and He began. Ages of darkness, wickedness, 
and violence, have come and gone — millions, 
unaccountable, have suffered, lived, and died — 
to point the way before him. Who seeks to turn 
him back, or stay him on his course, arrests a 
mighty engine which will strike the meddler dead; 
and be the fiercer and the wilder, ever, for its 
momentary check!'* 

"I never did so to my knowledge, sir," said 
Trotty. "It was quite by accident if I did. I 
wouldn't go to do it, I'm sure." 

"Who puts into the mouth of Time, or of its 
servants," said the Goblin of the Bell, "a cry of 
lamentation for days which have had their trial 
and their failure, and have left deep traces of it 
which the blind may see — a cry that only serves 

[132] 



THE CHIMES 

the present time, by showing men how much it 
needs their help when any ears can Hsten to re- 
grets for such a past — who does this, does a 
wrong. And you have done that wrong, to us, 
the Chimes." 

Trotty's first excess of fear was gone. But he 
had felt tenderly and gratefully towards the Bells, 
as you have seen; and when he heard himself 
arraigned as one who had offended them so weight- 
ily, his heart was touched with penitence and 
grief. 

"If you knew," said Trotty, clasping his hands 
earnestly — "or perhaps you do know — if you 
know how often you have kept me company; how 
often you have cheered me up when I've been 
low; how you were quite the plaything of my 
little daughter Meg (almost the only one she ever 
had) when first her mother died, and she and me 
were left alone; you won't bear malice for a hasty 
word!" 

"Who hears in us, the Chimes, one note be- 
speaking disregard, or stern regard, of any hope, 

[133] 



THE CHIMES 

or joy, or pain, or sorrow, of the many-sorrowed 
throng; who hears us make response to any 
creed that gauges human passions and affections, 
as it gauges the amount of miserable food on 
which humanity may pine and wither; does us 
wrong. That wrong you have done us!" said 
the Bell. 

"I have!" said Trotty. "Oh forgive me!" 

"Who hears us echo the dull vermin of the 
earth: the Putters Down of crushed and broken 
natures, formed to be raised up higher than such 
maggots of the time can crawl or can conceive," 
pursued the GobUn of the Bell; "who does so, 
does us wrong. And you have done us wrong!" 

"Not meaning it," said Trotty. "In my igno- 
rance. "Not meaning it!" 

"Lastly, and most of all," pursued the Bell. 
"Who turns his back upon the fallen and dis- 
figured of his kind; abandons them as vile; and 
does not trace and track with pitying eyes the 
unfenced precipice by which they fell from good 
— grasping in their fall some tufts and shreds 

[134] 



THE CHIMES 

of that lost soil, and clinging to them still when 
bruised and dying in the gulf below; does wrong 
to Heaven and man, to time and to eternity. And 
you have done that wrong!" 

"Spare me," cried Trotty, falling on his knees; 
"for Mercy's sake!" 

"Listen!" said the Shadow. 

"Listen!" cried the other Shadows. 

"Listen!" said a clear and childlike voice, 
which Trotty thought he recognised as having 
heard before. 

The organ sounded faintly in the church below. 
Swelling by degrees, the melody ascended to the 
roof, and filled the choir and nave. Expanding 
more and more, it rose up, up; up, up; higher, 
higher, higher up; awakening agitated hearts 
within the burly piles of oak, the hollow bells, 
the iron-bound doors, the stairs of solid stone; 
until the tower walls were insuflScient to contain 
it, and it soared into the sky. 

No wonder that an old man's breast could not 
contain a sound so vast and mighty. It broke 

[135] 



THE CHIMES 

from that weak prison in a rush of tears; and 
Trotty put his hands before his face. 

"Listen!" said the Shadow. 

"Listen!" said the other Shadows. 

"Listen!" said the child's voice. 

A solemn strain of blended voices rose into 
the tower. 

It was a very low and mournful strain — a Dirge 
— and as he listened, Trotty heard his child among 
the singers. 

"She is dead!" exclaimed the old man. "Meg 
is dead! Her Spirit calls to me. I hear it!" 

"The Spirit of your child bewails the dead, and 
mingles with the dead — dead hopes, dead fan- 
cies, dead imaginings of youth," returned the 
Bell, "but she is living. Learn from her life, a 
living truth. Learn from the creature dearest 
to your heart, how bad the bad are born. See 
every bud and leaf plucked one by one from off 
the fairest stem, and know how bare and 
wretched it may be. Follow her! To despera- 
tion!" 

[136] 



THE CHIMES 

Each of the shadowy figures stretched its right 
arm forth, and pointed downward. 

"The Spirit of the Chimes is your companion," 
said the figure. "Go! It stands behind you!" 

Trotty turned, and saw — the child! The child 
Will Fern had carried in the street; the child 
whom Meg had watched, but now, asleep! 

"I carried her myself, to-night," said Trotty. 
"In these arms!" 

"Show him what he calls himself," said the 
dark figures, one and all. 

The tower opened at his feet. He looked down, 
and beheld his own form, lying at the bottom, on 
the outside: crushed and motionless. 

"No more a living man! "cried Trotty. "Dead!" 

"Dead!" said the figures all together. 

"Gracious Heaven! And the New Year — " 

"Past," said the figures. 

"What!" he cried, shuddering. "I missed my 
way, and coming on the outside of this tower in 
the dark, fell down — a year ago ?" 

"Nine years ago!" replied the figures. 
[137] 



THE CHIMES 

As they gave the answer, they recalled their 
outstretched hands; and where their figures had 
been, there the Bells were. 

And they rung; their time being come again. 
And once again, vast multitudes of phantoms 
sprung into existence; once again, were incohe- 
rently engaged, as they had been before; once 
again, faded on the stopping of the Chimes and; 
dwindled into nothing. 

"What are these .^" he asked his guide. "If 
I am not mad, what are these .^" 

"Spirits of the Bells. Their sound upon the 
air," returned the child. "They take such shapes 
and occupations as the hopes and thoughts of 
mortals, and the recollections they have stored 
iip, give them." 

"And you," said Trotty wildly. "What are you .?" 

"Hush, hush!" returned the child. "Look here!" 

In a poor, mean room; working at the same 
kind of embroidery which he had often, often 
seen before her; Meg, his own dear daughter, 
was presented to his view. He made no effort 

[138] 



THE CHIMES 

to imprint his kisses on her face; he did not 
strive to clasp her to his loving heart; he knew^ 
that such endearments were, for him, no more. 
But, he held his trembling breath, and brushed 
away the blinding tears, that he might look upon 
her; that he might only see her. 

Ah! Changed. Changed. The light of the 
clear eye, how dimmed. The bloom, how faded 
from the cheek. Beautiful she was, as she had 
ever been, but Hope, Hope, Hope, oh where was 
the fresh Hope that had spoken to him like a 
voice ! 

She looked up from her work, at a companion. 
Following her eyes, the old man started back. 

In the woman grown, he recognised her at a 
glance. In the long silken hair, he saw the self- 
same curls; around the lips, the child's expression 
lingering still. See! In the eyes, now turned 
inquiringly on Meg, there shone the very look 
that scanned those features when he brought her 
home! 

Then what was this, beside him! 
[139] 



THE CHIMES 

Looking with awe into its face, he saw a some- 
thing reigning there: a lofty something, undefined 
and indistinct, which made it hardly more than 
a remembrance of that child — as yonder figure 
might be — yet it was the same : the same : and 
wore the dress. 

Hark. They were speaking! 

"Meg," said Lihan, hesitating. "How often 
you raise your head from your work to look at 
me! 

"Are my looks so altered, that they frighten 
you.^" asked Meg. 

"Nay, dear! But you smile at that, yourself! 
Why not smile, when you look at me, Meg.?" 

"I do so. Do I not .5^" she answered: smiling 
on her. 

"Now you do," said Lihan, "but not usually. 

When you think I'm busy, and don't see you, you 

look so anxious and so doubtful, that I hardly 

like to raise my eyes. There is little cause for 

smiling in this hard and toilsome life, but you 

were once so cheerful." 

[140] 



THE CHIMES 

"Am I not now!" cried Meg, speaking in a tone 
of strange alarm, and rising to embrace her. *'Do 
/ make our weary life more weary to you, Lilian!" 
"You have been the only thing that made it 
life," said Lilian, fervently kissing her; "some- 
times the only thing that made me care to live 
so, Meg. Such work, such work! So many 
hours, so many days, so many long, long nights of 
hopeless, cheerless, never-ending work — not to 
heap up riches, not to live grandly or gaily, not 
to live upon enough, however coarse; but to earn 
bare bread; to scrape together just enough to 
toil upon, and want upon, and keep alive in us 
the consciousness of our hard fate! Oh Meg, 
Meg!" she raised her voice and twined her arms 
about her as she spoke, like one in pain. "How 
can the cruel world go round, and bear to look 
upon such Hves!" 

"Lilly!" said Meg, soothing her, and putting 
back her hair from her wet face. "Why, Lilly! 
You! So pretty and so young!" 

"Oh Meg!" she interrupted, holding her at 
[141] 



THE CHIMES 

arm's-length, and looking in her face imploringly. 
"The worst of all, the worst of all! Strike me 
old, Meg! Wither me, and shrivel me, and free 
me from the dreadful thoughts that tempt me in 
my youth!" 

Trotty turned to look upon his guide. But the 
Spirit of the child had taken flight. Was gone. 

Neither did he himself remain in the same 
place; for, Sir Joseph Bowley, Friend and Father 
of the Poor, held a great festivity at Bowley Hall, 
in honour of the natal day of Lady Bowley. And 
as Lady Bowley had been born on New Year's 
Day (which the local newspapers considered an 
especial pointing of the finger of Providence to 
Number One, as Lady Bowley's destined figure 
in Creation), it was on a New Year's Day that this 
festivity took place. 

Bowley Hall was full of visitors. The red- 
faced gentleman was there, Mr. Filer was there, 
the great Alderman Cute was there — Alderman 
Cute had a sympathetic feeling with great people, 
and had considerably improved his acquaintance 

[142] 



THE CHIMES 

with Sir Joseph Bowley on the strength of his 
attentive letter: indeed had become quite a friend 
of the family since then — and many guests were 
there. Trotty's ghost was there, wandering about, 
poor phantom, drearily; and looking for its guide. 

There was to be a great dinner in the Great 
Hall. At which Sir Joseph Bowley, in his cele- 
brated character of Friend and Father of the Poor, 
was to make his great speech. Certain plum- 
puddings were to be eaten by his Friends and 
Children in another Hall first; and, at a given 
signal, Friends and Children flocking in among 
their Friends and Fathers, were to form a family 
assemblage, with not one manly eye therein 
unmoistened by emotion. 

But, there was more than this to happen. Even 
more than this. Sir Joseph Bowley, Baronet 
and Member of Parliament, was to play a match 
at skittles — real skittles — with his tenants ! 

"Which quite reminds me," said Alderman 
Cute, "of the days of old King Hal, stout King 
Hal, bluff King Hal. Ah. Fine character!" 

[143] 



THE CHIMES 

*'Very," said Mr. Filer, dryly. *'For marry- 
ing women and murdering 'em. Considerably 
more than the average number of wives by the bye." 

*'You'll marry the beautiful ladies, and not 
murder 'em, eh.?" said Alderman Cute to the 
heir of Bowley, aged twelve. *' Sweet boy! We 
shall have this little gentleman in Parliament 
now," said the Alderman, holding him by the 
shoulders, and looking as reflective as he could, 
"before we know where we are. We shall hear 
of his successes at the poll; his speeches in the 
House; his overtures from Governments; his bril- 
liant achievements of all kinds; ah! we shall 
make our little orations about him in the Com- 
mon Council, I'll be bound; before we have time 
to look about us!" 

"Oh, the difference of shoes and stockings!" 
Trotty thought. But his heart yearned towards 
the child, for the love of those same shoeless and 
stockingless boys, predestined (by the Alderman) 
to turn out bad, who might have been the children 
of poor Meg. 

[ 144 ] 



THE CHIMES 

"Richard," moaned Trotty, roaming among 
the company, to and fro; "where is he? I can't 
find Richard! Where is Richard ? " 

Not Hkely to be there, if still alive ! But Trotty's 
grief and solitude confused him; and he still 
went wandering among the gallant company, 
looking for his guide, and saying, "Where is 
Richard? Show me Richard!" 

He was wandering thus, when he encountered 
Mr. Fish, the confidential Secretary: in great 
agitation. 

"Bless my heart and soul!" cried Mr. Fish. 
"Where's Alderman Cute? Has anybody seen 
the Alderman?" 

Seen the Alderman? Oh dear! Who could 
ever help seeing the Alderman ? He was so con- 
siderate, so affable, he bore so much in mind the 
natural desires of folks to see him, that if he had 
a fault, it was the being constantly On View. And 
wherever the great people were, there, to be sure, 
attracted by the kindred sympathy between great 
souls, was Cute. 

[145] 



Jj 



THE CHIMES 

Several voices cried that he was in the circle 
round Sir Joseph. Mr. Fish made way there; 
found him; and took him secretly into a window 
near at hand. Trotty joined them. Not of his 
own accord. He felt that his steps were led in 
that direction. 

"My dear Alderman Cute," said Mr. Fish. 
**A little more this way. The most dreadful 
circumstance has occurred. I have this moment 
received the intelligence. I think it will be best 
not to acquaint Sir Joseph with it till the day is 
over. You understand Sir Joseph, and will give 
me your opinion. The most frightful and deplor- 
able event!" 

"Fish!" returned the Alderman. "Fish! My 
good fellow, what is the matter.? Nothing revo- 
lutionary, I hope ! No — no attempted inter- 
ference with the magistrates.?" 

"Deedles, the banker," gasped the Secretary. 
"Deedles Brothers — who was to have been here 
to-day — high in office in the Goldsmith's Com- 
pany — " 

[146] 



THE CHIMES 

"Not stopped!" exclaimed the Alderman. *'It 
can't be!" 

"Shot himself." 

"Good God!" 

"Put a double-barrelled pistol to his mouth, in 
his own counting house," said Mr. Fish, "and 
blew his brains out. No motive. Princely cir- 
cumstances!" 

' * Circumstances ! ' ' exclaimed the Alderman . "A 
man of noble fortune. One of the most respect- 
able of men. Suicide, Mr. Fish! By his own 
hand!" 

"This very morning," returned Mr. Fish. 

"Oh the brain, the brain!" exclaimed the pious 
Alderman, lifting up his hands. "Oh the nerves, 
the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called 
Man! Oh the little that unhinges it: poor crea- 
tures that we are! Perhaps a dinner, Mr. Fish. 
Perhaps the conduct of his son, who, I have heard, 
ran very wild, and was in the habit of drawing 
bills upon him without the least authority! A 
most respectable man. One of the most respect- 

[147] 



THE CHIMES 

able men I ever knew! A lamentable instance, 
Mr. Fish. A public calamity! I shall make a 
point of wearing the deepest mourning. A most 
respectable man! But there is One above. We 
must submit, Mr. Fish. We must submit!" 

What, Alderman! No word of Putting Down.? 
Remember, Justice, your high moral boast and 
pride. Come, Alderman! Balance those scales. 
Throw me into this, the empty one, no dinner, 
and Nature's founts in some poor woman, dried 
by starving misery and rendered obdurate to 
claims for her which her offspring has authority 
in holy mother Eve. Weigh me the two, you 
Daniel, going to judgment, when your day shall 
come! Weigh them, in the eyes of suffering thou- 
sands, audience (not unmindful) of the grim farce 
you play. Or supposing that you strayed from 
your five wits — it's not so far to go, but that it 
might be — and laid hands upon that throat of 
yours, warning your fellows (if you have a fellow) 
how they croak their comfortable wickedness to 
raving heads and stricken hearts. What then.? 

[ 148 ] 



THE CHIMES 

The words rose up in Trotty's breast, as if 
they had been spoken by some other voice within 
him. Alderman Cute pledged himself to Mr. Fish 
that he would assist him in breaking the melan- 
choly catastrophe to Sir Joseph when the day 
was over. Then, before they parted, wringing 
Mr. Fish's hand in bitterness of soul, he said, 
"The most respectable of men!" And added 
that he hardly knew (not even he), why such 
afflictions were allowed on earth. 

"It's almost enough to make one think, if 
one didn't know better," said Alderman Cute, 
"that at times some motion of a capsizing nature 
was going on in things, which affected the general 
economy of the social fabric. Deedles Brothers!" 

The skittle-playing came off with immense 
success. Sir Joseph knocked the pins about 
quite skilfully; Master Bowley took an innings 
at a shorter distance also; and everybody said 
that now, when a Baronet and the Son of a Baro- 
net played at skittles, the country was coming 
round again, as fast as it could come. 

[149] 



THE CHIMES 

At its proper time, the Banquet was served up. 
Trotty involuntarily repaired to the Hall with 
the rest, for he felt himself conducted thither by 
some stronger impulse than his own free will. 
The sight was gay in the extreme; the ladies were 
very handsome; the visitors delighted, cheerful, 
and good-tempered. When the lower doors were 
opened, and the people flocked in, in their rustic 
dresses, the beauty of the spectacle was at its 
height; but Trotty only murmured more and 
more, ** Where is Richard! He should help and 
comfort her! I can't see Richard!" 

There had been some speeches made; and 
Lady Rowley's health had been proposed; and 
Sir Joseph Rowley had returned thanks, and had 
made his great speech, showing by various pieces 
of evidence that he was the born Friend and Father, 
and so forth; and had given as a Toast, his 
Friends and Children, and the Dignity of La- 
bour; when a slight disturbance at the bottom 
of the Hall attracted Toby's notice. After some 
confusion, noise, and opposition, one man broke 

[150] 



THE CHIMES 

through the rest, and stood forward by him- 
self. 

Not Richard. No. But one whom he had 
thought of, and had looked for, many times. In 
a scantier supply of light, he might have doubted 
the identity of that worn man, so old, and grey, 
and bent; but with a blaze of lamps upon his 
gnarled and knotted head, he knew Will Fern as 
soon as he stepped forth. 

''What is this!" exclaimed Sir Joseph, rising. 
"Who gave this man admittance.? This is a 
criminal from prison! Mr. Fish, sir, will you 
have the goodness — " 

"A minute!" said Will Fern. "A minute! 
My Lady, you was born on this day along with 
a New Year. Get me a minute's leave to speak." 
She made some intercession for him. Sir 
Joseph took his seat again, with native dignity. 
The ragged visitor — for he was miserably 
dressed — looked round upon the company, and 
made his homage to them with a humble 
bow. 

[151] 



THE CHIMES 

''Gentlefolks!" he said. "You've drunk the 
Labourer. Look at me!" 

" Just come from jail," said Mr. Fish. 

"Just come from jail," said Will. "And neither 
for the first time, nor the second, nor the third, 
nor yet the fourth." 

Mr. Filer was heard to remark testily, that 
four times was over the average; and he ought 
to be ashamed of himself. 

"Gentlefolks!" repeated Will Fern. "Look 
at me! You see I'm at the worst. Beyond all 
hurt or harm; beyond your help: for the time 
when your kind words or kind actions could have 
done ME good," — he struck his hand upon his 
breast, and shook his head, "is gone, with the 
scent of last year's beans or clover on the air. Let 
me say a word for these," pointing to the labouring 
people in the Hall; "and when you're met to- 
gether, hear the real Truth spoke out for once." 

"There's not a man here," said the host, "who 
would have him for a spokesman." 

"Like enough, Sir Joseph. I believe it. Not 
[152] 



THE CHIMES 



the less true, perhaps, is what I say. Perhaps 
that's a proof on it. Gentlefolks, I've lived 
many a year in this place. You may see the cot- 
tage from the sunk fence over yonder. I've seen 




-■"■>^^»*#l 



the ladies draw it in their books, a hundred times. 
It looks well in a picter, I've heerd say; but there 
an't weather in picters, and maybe 'tis fitter for 
that, than for a place to live in. Well! I lived 
there. How hard — how bitter hard, I lived 
there, I won't say. Any day in the year, and 
every day, you can judge for your own selves." 

He spoke as he had spoken on the night when 
Trotty found him in the street. His voice was 

[ 153 ] 



THE CHIMES 

deeper and more husky, and had a trembhng in 
it now and then; but he never raised it passion- 
ately, and seldom lifted it above the firm stern 
level of the homely facts he stated. 

*' 'Tis harder than you think for, gentlefolks, to 
grow up decent, commonly decent, in such a 
place. That I growed up a man and not a brute, 
says something for me — as I was then. As I am 
now, there's nothing can be said for me or done 
for me. I'm past it." 

"I am glad this man has entered," observed 
Sir Joseph, looking round serenely. *' Don't dis- 
turb him. It appears to be Ordained. He is an 
example: a living example. I hope and trust, 
and confidently expect, that it will not be lost 
upon my Friends here." 

*'I dragged on," said Fern, after a moment's 
silence, "somehow. Neither me nor any other 
man knows how; but so heavy, that I couldn't put 
a cheerful face upon it, or make believe that I 
was anything but what I was. Now, gentlemen 
— you gentlemen that sits at Sessions — when 

[154] 



THE CHIMES 

you see a man with discontent writ on his face, 
you says to one another, 'He's suspicious. I has 
my doubts,' says you, 'about Will Fern. Watch 
that fellow!' I don't say, gentlemen, it ain't 
quite nat'ral, but I say 'tis so; and from that 
hour, whatever Will Fern does, or lets alone — 
all one — it goes against him." 

Alderman Cute stuck his thumbs in his waist- 
coat-pockets, and leaning back in his chair, and 
smiling, winked at a neighbouring chandelier. 
As much as to say, "Of course! I told you so. 
The common cry! Lord bless you, we are up 
to all this sort of thing — myself and human 
nature." 

"Now, gentlemen," said Will Fern, holding 
out his hands, and flushing for an instant in his 
haggard face, "see how your laws are made to 
trap and hunt us when we're brought to this. I 
tries to live elsewhere. And I'm a vagabond. 
To jail with him! I comes back here. I goes 
a-nutting in your woods, and breaks — who don't ? 
— a limber branch or two. To jail with him! 

[155] 



THE CHIMES 

One of your keepers sees me in the broad day, 
near my own patch of garden, with a gun. To 
jail with him! I has a nat'ral angry word with 
that man, when I'm free again. To jail with him! 
I cuts a stick. To jail with him! I eats a rotten 
apple or a turnip. To jail with him! It's twenty 
mile away; and coming back I begs a trifle on 
the road. To jail with him! At last, the con- 
stable, the keeper — anybody — finds me any- 
where, a-doing anything. To jail with him, for 
he's a vagrant, and a jail-bird known; and jail's 
the only home he's got." 

The Alderman nodded sagaciously, as who 
should say, "A very good home too!" 

"Do I say this to serve my cause!" cried Fern. 
"Who can give me back my liberty, who can give 
me back my good name, who can give me back 
my innocent niece ? Not all the Lords and Ladies 
in wide England. But, gentlemen, gentlemen, 
dealing with other men like me, begin at the right 
end. Give us, in mercy, better homes when 
we're a-lying in our cradles; give us better food 

[156] 



THE CHIMES 

when we 're a-working for our lives ; give us kinder 
laws to bring us back when we're a-going wrong; 
and don't set Jail, Jail, Jail, afore us, everywhere 
we turn. There an't a condescension you can 
show the Labourer then, that he won't take, as 
ready and as grateful as a man can be; for, he 
has a patient, peaceful, willing heart. But you 
must put his rightful spirit in him first; for, 
whether he's a wreck and ruin such as me, or is 
like one of them that stand here now, his spirit 
is divided from you at this time. Bring it back, 
gentlefolks, bring it back! Bring it back, afore 
the day comes when even his Bible changes in 
his altered mind, and the words seem to him to 
read, as they have sometimes read in my own 
eyes — in Jail : ' Whither thou goest, I can Not 
go; where thou lodgest, I do Not lodge; thy 
people are Not my people; Nor thy God my God!" 
A sudden stir and agitation took place in the 
Hall. Trotty thought at first, that several had 
risen to eject the man; and hence this change in 
its appearance. But, another moment showed 

[157] 



THE CHIMES 

him that the room and all the company had van- 
ished from his sight, and that his daughter was 
again before him, seated at her work. But in 
a poorer, meaner garret than before; and with 
no Lilian by her side. 

The frame at which she had worked, was put 
away upon a shelf and covered up. The chair 
in which she had sat, was turned against the wall. 
A history was written in these little things, and 
in Meg's grief -worn face. Oh! who could fail 
to read it! 

Meg strained her eyes upon her work until it 
was too dark to see the threads; and when the 
night closed in, she lighted her feeble candle and 
worked on. Still her old father was invisible 
about her; looking down upon her; loving her 
— how dearly loving her ! — and talking to her 
in a tender voice about the old times, and the 
Bells. Though he knew, poor Trotty, though 
he knew she could not hear him. 

A great part of the evening had worn away, 
when a knock came at her door. She opened 

[158] 



THE CHIMES 

it. A man was on the threshold. A slouching, 
moody, drunken sloven, wasted by intemperance 
and vice, and with his matted hair and unshorn 
beard in wild disorder; but, with some traces 
on him, too, of having been a man of good pro- 
portion and good features in his youth. 

He stopped until he had her leave to enter; 
and she, retiring a pace or two from the open 
door, silently and sorrowfully looked upon him. 
Trotty had his wish. He saw Richard. 

"May I come in, Margaret .P" 

*'Yes! Come in. Come in!" 

It was well that Trotty knew him before he 
spoke; for with any doubt remaining on his 
mind, the harsh discordant voice would have 
persuaded him that it was not Richard but some 
other man. 

There were but two chairs in the room. She 
gave him hers, and stood at some short distance 
from him, waiting to hear what he had to say. 

He sat, however, staring vacantly at the floor; 
with a lustreless and stupid smile. A spectacle 

[159] 



THE CHIMES 

of such deep degradation, of such abject hopeless- 
ness, of such a miserable downfall, that she put 
her hands before her face and turned away, lest 
he should see how much it moved her. 

Roused by the rustling of her dress, or some 
such trifling sound, he lifted his head, and began 
to speak as if there had been no pause since he 
entered. 

*' Still at work, Margaret.^ You work late." 

*'I generally do." 

"And early.?" 

"And early." 

*'So she said. She said you never tired; or 
never owned that you tired. Not all the time you 
lived together. Not even when you fainted, be- 
tween work and fasting. But I told you that, the 
last time I came." 

"You did," she answered. "And I implored 
you to tell me nothing more; and you made me 
a solemn promise, Richard, that you never would." 

"A solemn promise," he repeated, with a driv- 
elling laugh and vacant stare. "A solemn prom- 

[160] 



THE CHIMES 

ise. To be sure. A solemn promise!" Awaken- 
ing, as it were, after a time; in the same manner 
as before; he said with sudden animation: 

*'How can I help it, Margaret? What am I 
to do? She has been to me again!" 

"Again!" cried Meg, clasping her hands. *'0, 
does she think of me so often! Has she been 
again!" 

"Twenty times again," said Richard. "Mar- 
garet, she haunts me. She comes behind me in 
the street, and thrusts it in my hand. I hear her 
foot upon the ashes when I'm at my work (ha, 
ha! that an't often), and before I can turn my 
head, her voice is in my ear, saying, 'Richard, 
don't look round. For Heaven's love, give her 
this!' She brings it where I live; she sends it in 
letters; she taps at the window and lays it on the 
sill. What caw I do? Look at it!" 

He held out in his hand a little purse, and 
chinked the money it enclosed. 

"Hide it," said Meg. "Hide it! When she 
comes again, tell her, Richard, that I love her in 

[161] 



THE CHIMES 

my soul. That I never lie down to sleep, but I 
bless her, and pray for her. That, in my solitary 
work, I never cease to have her in my thoughts. 
That she is with me, night and day. That if I 
died to-morrow, I would remember her with my 
last breath. But, that I cannot look upon it!" 

He slowly recalled his hand, and crushing the 
purse together, said with a kind of drowsy thought- 
fulness : 

*'I told her so. I told her so, as plain as words 
could speak. I've taken this gift back and left 
it at her door, a dozen times since then. But 
when she came at last, and stood before me, face 
to face, what could I do.?" 

"You saw her!" exclaimed Meg. "You saw 
her! O, Lilian, my sweet girl! O, Lilian, Lil- 
ian!" 

"I saw her," he went on to say, not answering, 
but engaged in the same slow pursuit of his own 
thoughts. "There she stood: trembling! 'How 
does she look, Richard ? Does she ever speak of 
me ? Is she thinner ? My old place at the table : 

[162] 



THE CHIMES 

what's in my old place ? And the frame she 
taught me our old work on — has she burnt it, 
Richard!' There she was. I heard her say it." 

Meg checked her sobs, and with the tears 
streaming from her eyes, bent over him to listen. 
Not to lose a breath. 

With his arms resting on his knees; and stoop- 
ing forward in his chair, as if what he said were 
written on the ground in some half legible charac- 
ter, which it was his occupation to decipher, and 
connect; he went on. 

'"Richard, I have fallen very low; and you 
may guess how much I have suffered in having 
this sent back, when I can bear to bring it 
in my hand to you. But you loved her once, 
even in my memory, dearly. Others stepped in 
between you; fears, and jealousies, and doubts, 
and vanities, estranged you from her; but you 
did love her, even in my memory!' I suppose I 
did," he said, interrupting himself for a moment. 
**I did! That's neither here nor there. 'O 
Richard, if you ever did; if you have any mem- 

[163] 



THE CHIMES 



ory for what is gone and lost, take it to her once 
more. Once more ! Tell her how I laid my head 
upon your shoulder, where her own head might 
have lain, and was so humble to you, Richard. 
Tell her that you looked into my face, and saw 
the beauty which she used to praise, all gone: all 
gone : and in its place, a poor, wan, hollow cheek, 
that she would weep to see. Tell her everything, 
and take it back, and she will not refuse it again. 
She will not have the heart!' " 

So he sat musing, and repeating the last words, 
until he woke again, and rose. 

"You won't take it, Margaret.?" 

She shook her head, and motioned an entreaty 
to him to leave her. 

"Good night, Margaret." 

"Goodnight!" 

He turned to look upon her; struck by her 
sorrow, and perhaps by the pity for himself which 
trembled in her voice. It was a quick and rapid 
action; and for the moment some flash of his old 
bearing kindled in his form. In the next he went 

[ 164 ] 



THE CHIMES 

as he had come. Nor did this glimmer of a 
quenched fire seem to Hght him to a quicker 
sense of his debasement. 

In any mood, in any grief, in any torture of 
the mind or body, Meg's work must be done. 
She sat down to her task, and phed it. Night, 
midnight. Still she worked. 

She had a meagre fire, the night being very 
cold; and rose at intervals to mend it. The 
Chimes rang half-past twelve while she was thus 
engaged; and when they ceased she heard a 
gentle knocking at the door. Before she could 
so much as wonder who was there, at that unusual 
hour, it opened. 

O Youth and Beauty, happy as ye should be, 
look at this. O Youth and Beauty, blest and 
blessing all within your reach, and working out 
the ends of your Beneficent Creator, look at this! 

She saw the entering figure; screamed its name; 
cried "Lilian!" 

It was swift, and fell upon its knees before her: 
clinging to her dress. 

[165] 



THE CHIMES 

"Up, dear! Up! Lilian! My own dearest!'* 

"Never more, Meg; never more! Here! Here! 
Close to you, holding to you, feeling your dear 
breath upon my face ! " 

"Sweet Lilian! Darling Lilian! Child of my 
heart — no mother's love can be more tender — 
lay your head upon my breast!" 

"Never more, Meg. Never more! When I 
first looked into your face, you knelt before me. 
On my knees before you, let me die. Let it be here ! " 

"You have come back. My Treasure! We 
will live together, work together, hope together, 
die together!" 

"Ah! Kiss my lips, Meg; fold your arms 
about me; press me to your bosom; look kindly 
on me; but don't raise me. Let it be here. Let 
me see the last of your dear face upon my knees!" 

O Youth and Beauty, happy as ye should be, 
look at this! O Youth and Beauty, working 
out the ends of your Beneficent Creator, look at this ! 

"Forgive me, Meg! So dear, so dear! Forgive 
me ! I know you do, I see you do, but say so, Meg ! ' ' 

[166] 



THE CHIMES 

She said so, with her Hps on LiHan's cheek. 
And with her arms twined round — she knew it 
now — a broken heart. 

*'His blessing on you, dearest love. Kiss me 
once more! He suffered her to sit beside His 
feet, and dry them with her hair. O Meg, what 
Mercy and Compassion!" 

As she died, the Spirit of the child returning, 
innocent and radiant, touched the old man with 
its hand, and beckoned him away. 




[167] 




FOURTH QUARTER 

OOME new remembrance of the ghostly fig- 
ures in the Bells; some faint impression of 
the ringing of the Chimes; some giddy conscious- 
ness of having seen the swarm of phantoms re- 
produced and reproduced until the recollection 
of them lost itself in the confusion of their num- 
bers; some hurried knowledge, how conveyed to 
him he knew not, that more years had passed; 
and Trotty, with the Spirit of the child attending 
him, stood looking on at mortal company. 

Fat company, rosy-cheeked company, com- 
fortable company. They were but two, but they 
were red enough for ten. They sat before a 
bright fire, with a small low table between them; 
and unless the fragrance of hot tea and muffins 
lingered longer in that room than in most others, 
the table had seen service very lately. But all 

[168] 



THE CHIMES 

the cups and saucers being clean, and in their 
proper places in the corner-cupboard; and the 
brass toasting-fork hanging in its usual nook and 
spreading its four idle fingers out as if it wanted 
to be measured for a glove; there remained no 
other visible tokens of the meal just finished, than 
such as purred and washed their whiskers in the 
person of the basking cat, and glistened in the 
gracious, not to say the greasy, faces of her 
patrons. 

This cosy couple (married, evidently) had made 
a fair division of the fire between them, and sat 
looking at the glowing sparks that dropped into 
the grate; now nodding off into a doze; now 
waking up again when some hot fragment, larger 
than the rest, came rattling down, as if the fire 
were coming with it. 

It was in no danger of sudden extinction, how- 
ever; for it gleamed not only in the little room, 
and on the panes of window-glass in the door, 
and on the curtain half drawn across them, but 
in the little shop beyond. A little shop, quite 

[169] 



THE CHIMES 

crammed and choked with the abundance of its 
stock; a perfectly voracious Httle shop, with a 
maw as accommodating and full as any shark's. 
Cheese, butter, firewood, soap, pickles, matches, 
bacon, table-beer, peg-tops, sweetmeats, boys' 
kites, bird-seed, cold ham, birch brooms, hearth- 
stones, salt, vinegar, blacking, red-herrings, sta- 
tionery, lard, mushroom-ketchup, staylaces, loaves 
of bread, shuttlecocks, eggs, and slate pencil; 
everything was fish that came to the net of this 
greedy little shop, and all articles were in its net. 
How many other kinds of petty merchandise 
were there, it would be diflScult to say; but balls 
of packthread, ropes of onions, pounds of candles, 
cabbage-nets, and brushes, hung in bunches from 
the ceiling, like extraordinary fruit; while vari- 
ous odd canisters emitting aromatic smells, es- 
tablished the veracity of the inscription over the 
outer door, which informed the public that the 
keeper of this little shop was a licensed dealer 
in tea, coffee, tobacco, pepper, and snuff. 

Glancing at such of these articles as were vis- 
[170] 



THE CHIMES 

ible in the shining of the blaze, and the less cheer- 
ful radiance of two smoky lamps which burnt 
but dimly in the shop itself, as though its plethora 
sat heavy on their lungs; and glancing, then, at 
one of the two faces by the parlour-fire; Trotty 
had small difficulty in recognising in the stout 
old lady, Mrs. Chickenstalker : always inclined to 
corpulency, even in the days when he had known 
her as established in the general line, and having 
a small balance against him in her books. 

The features of her companion were less easy 
to him. The great broad chin, with creases in 
it large enough to hide a finger in; the astonished 
eyes, that seemed to expostulate with themselves 
for sinking deeper and deeper into the yielding 
fat of the soft face; the nose afflicted with that 
disordered action of its functions which is gen- 
erally termed The Snuffles; the short thick throat 
and labouring chest, with other beauties of the 
like description; although calculated to impress 
the memory, Trotty could at first allot to nobody 
he had ever known: and yet he had some recol- 

[171] 



THE CHIMES 



lection of them too. At length, in Mrs. Chicken- 
stalker's partner in the general line, and in the 
crooked and eccentric line of 
life, he recognised the former 
porter of Sir Joseph Bowley; 
an apoplectic innocent, who had 
connected himself in Trotty's 
mind with Mrs. Chickenstalker 
years ago, by giving him ad- 
mission to the mansion where 
he had confessed his obligations 
to that lady, and drawn on his 
unlucky head such grave reproach. 

Trotty had little interest in a change like this, 
after the changes he had seen; but association 
is very strong sometimes; and he looked involun- 
tarily behind the parlour-door, where the accounts 
of credit customers were usually kept in chalk. 
There was no record of his name. Some names 
were there, but they were strange to him, and 
infinitely fewer than of old; from which he argued 
that the porter was an advocate of ready-money 

[172] 




THE CHIMES 

transactions, and on coming into the business 
had looked pretty sharp after the Chickenstalker 
defaulters. 

So desolate was Trotty, and so mournful for 
the youth and promise of his blighted child, that 
it was a sorrow to him, even to have no place in 
Mrs. Chickenstalker's ledger. 

*'What sort of a night is it, Anne.^" inquired 
the former porter of Sir Joseph Bowley, stretching 
out his legs before the fire, and rubbing as much 
of them as his short arms could reach; with an 
air that added, *'Here I am if it's bad, and I 
don't want to go out if it's good." 

"Blowing and sleeting hard," returned his 
wife; "and threatening snow. Dark. And very 
cold." 

"I'm glad to think we had muflSns," said the 
former porter, in the tone of one who had set his 
conscience at rest. "It's a sort of night that's 
meant for muffins. Likewise crumpets. Also 
Sally Lunns." 

The former porter mentioned each successive 
[173] 



THE CHIMES 

kind of eatable, as if he were musingly summing 
up his good actions. After which he rubbed his 
fat legs as before, and jerking them at the knees 
to get the fire upon the yet unroasted parts, laughed 
as if somebody had tickled him. 

"You're in spirits, Tugby, my dear," observed 
his wife. 

The firm was Tugby, late Chickenstalker. 

"No," said Tugby. "No. Not particular. 
I'm a little elewated. The muffins came so pat! " 

With that he chuckled until he was black in 
the face; and had so much ado to become any 
other colour, that his fat legs took the strangest 
excursions into the air. Nor were they reduced 
to anything like decorum until Mrs. Tugby had 
thumped him violently on the back, and shaken 
him as if he were a great bottle. 

"Good gracious, goodness, lord-a-mercy bless 
and save the man!" cried Mrs. Tugby, in great 
terror. "What's he doing.?" 

Mr. Tugby wiped his eyes, and faintly repeated 
that he found himself a little elewated. 

[174] 



THE CHIMES 

"Then don't be so again, that's a dear good 
soul," said Mrs. Tugby, "if you don't want to 
frighten me to death, with your strugghng and 
fighting!" 

Mr. Tugby said he wouldn't; but, his whole 
existence was a fight, in which, if any judgment 
might be founded on the constantly-increasing 
shortness of his breath, and the deepening purple 
of his face, he was always getting the worst of it. 

"So it's blowing, and sleeting, and threatening 
snow; and it's dark, and very cold, is it, my 
dear.?" said Mr. Tugby, looking at the fire, and 
reverting to the cream and marrow of his tem- 
porary elevation. 

"Hard weather indeed," returned his wife, 
shaking her head. 

"Aye, aye! Years," said Mr. Tugby, "are 
like Christians in that respect. Some of 'em die 
hard; some of 'em die easy. This one hasn't 
many days to run, and is making a fight for it. 
I like him all the better. There's a customer, 
my love!" 

[175] 



THE CHIMES 

Attentive to the rattling door, Mrs. Tugby had 
already risen. 

*'Now then!" said that lady, passing out into 
the little shop. "What's wanted .? Oh! I beg 
your pardon, sir, I'm sure. I didn't think it 
was you." 

She made this apology to a gentleman in black, 
who, with his wristbands tucked up, and his hat 
cocked loungingly on one side, and his hands in 
his pockets, sat down astride on the table-beer 
barrel, and nodded in return. 

"This is a bad business up-stairs, Mrs. Tugby," 
said the gentleman. "The man can't live." 

"Not the back-attic can't!" cried Tugby, com- 
ing out into the shop to join the conference. 

"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentle- 
man, "is coming down-stairs fast, and will be 
below the basement very soon." 

Looking by turns at Tugby and his wife, he 
sounded the barrel with his knuckles for the depth 
of the beer, and having found it, played a tune 
upon the empty part. 

[176] 



THE CHIMES 

"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentle- 
man: Tugby having stood in silent consternation 
for some time: *'is Going." 

"Then," said Tugby, turning to his wife, "he 
must Go, you know, before he's Gone." 

"I don't think you can move him," said the 
gentleman, shaking his head. "I wouldn't take 
the responsibility of saying it could be done, my- 
self. You had better leave him where he is. He 
can't live long." 

"It's the only subject," said Tugby, bringing 
the butter-scale down upon the counter with a 
crash, by weighing his fist on it, "that we've ever 
had a word upon; she and me; and look what 
it comes to! He's going to die here, after all. 
Going to die upon the premises. Going to die 
in our house!" 

"And where should he have died, Tugby.?" 
cried his wife. 

"In the workhouse," he returned. "What are 
workliouses made for.?" 

"Not for that," said Mrs. Tugby, with great 
[177] 



THE CHIMES 

energy. "Not for that! Neither did I marry 
you for that. Don't think it, Tugby. I won't 
have it. I won't allow it. I'd be separated first, 
and never see your face again. When my widow's 
name stood over that door, as it did for many 
years: this house being known as Mrs. Chicken- 
stalker's far and wide, and never known but to 
its honest credit and its good report: when my 
widow's name stood over that door, Tugby, I 
knew him as a handsome, steady, manly, independ- 
ent youth; I knew her as the sweetest-looking, 
sweetest-tempered girl, eyes ever saw; I knew her 
father (poor old creetur, he fell down from the 
steeple walking in his sleep, and killed himself), 
for the simplest, hardest-working, childest-hearted 
man, that ever drew the breath of life; and when 
I turn them out of house and home, may angels 
turn me out of Heaven. As they would! And 
serve me right!" 

Her old face, which had been a plump and 
dimpled one before the changes which had come 
to pass, seemed to shine out of her as she said 

[178] 



THE CHIMES 

these words; and when she dried her eyes, and 
shook her head and her handkerchief at Tugby, 
with an expression of firmness which it was quite 
clear was not to be easily resisted, Trotty said, 
"Bless her! Bless her!" 

Then he listened, with a panting heart, for 
what should follow. Knowing nothing yet, but 
that they spoke of Meg. 

If Tugby had been a little elevated in the par- 
lour, he more than balanced that account by being 
not a little depressed in the shop, where he now 
stood staring at his wife, without attempting a 
reply ; secretly conveying, however — either in a 
fit of abstraction or as a precautionary measure 
— all the money from the till into his own pockets, 
as he looked at her. 

The gentleman upon the table-beer cask, who 
appeared to be some authorised medical attend- 
ant upon the poor, was far too well accustomed, 
evidently, to little differences of opinion between 
man and wife, to interpose any remark in this 
instance. He sat softly whistling, and turning 

[179] 



THE CHIMES 

little drops of beer out of the tap upon the ground, 
until there was a perfect calm: when he raised 
his head, and said to Mrs. Tugby, late Chicken- 
stalker : 

** There's something interesting about the wo- 
man, even now. How did she come to marry 
him.?" 

"Why that," said Mrs. Tugby, taking a seat 
near him, "is not the least cruel part of her story, 
sir. You see they kept company, she and Rich- 
ard, many years ago. When they were a young 
and beautiful couple, everything was settled, and 
they were to have been married on a New Year's 
Day. But, somehow, Richard got it into his 
head, through what the gentlemen told him, that 
he might do better, and that he'd soon repent it, 
and that she wasn't good enough for him, and 
that a young man of spirit had no business to be 
married. And the gentlemen frightened her, and 
made her melancholy, and timid of his deserting 
her, and of her children coming to the gallows, 
and of its being wicked to be man and wife, and 

[180] 



THE CHIMES 

a good deal more of it. And in short, they Hngered 
and lingered, and their trust in one another was 
broken, and so at last was the match. But the 
fault was his. She would have married him, sir, 
joyfully. I've seen her heart swell many times 
afterwards, when he passed her in a proud and 
careless way; and never did a woman grieve more 
truly for a man, than she for Richard when he 
first went wrong." 

"Oh! he went wrong, did he.?" said the gentle- 
man, pulling out the vent-peg of the table-beer, 
and trying to peep down into the barrel through 
the hole. 

*'Well, sir, I don't know that he rightly under- 
stood himself, you see. I think his mind was 
troubled by their having broke with one another; 
and that but for being ashamed before the gentle- 
men, and perhaps for being uncertain too, how she 
might take it, he'd have gone through any suffer- 
ing or trial to have had Meg's promise and Meg's 
hand again. That's my belief. He never said 
so; more's the pity! He took to drinking, idling, 

[181] 



THE CHIMES 

bad companions: all the fine resources that were 
to be so much better for him than the Home he 
might have had. He lost his looks, his character, 
his health, his strength, his friends, his work: 
everything!" 

"He didn't lose everything, Mrs. Tugby," 
returned the gentleman, "because he gained a 
wife; and I want to know how he gained her." 

"I'm coming to it, sir, in a moment. This 
went on for years and years ; he sinking lower and 
lower; she enduring, poor thing, miseries enough 
to wear her life away. At last, he was so cast 
down, and cast out, that no one would employ or 
notice him; and doors were shut upon him, go 
where he would. Applying from place to place, 
and door to door; and coming for the hundredth 
time to one gentleman who had often and often 
tried him (he was a good workman to the very 
end) ; that gentleman, who knew his history, said, 
*I believe you are incorrigible; there is only one 
person in the world who has a chance of reclaim- 
ing you; ask me to trust you no more, until she 

[182] 



THE CHIMES 

tries to do it.' Something like that, in his anger 

and vexation." 

"Ah!" said the gentleman. "Well.?" 

"Well, sir, he went to her, and kneeled to her; 

said it was so ; said it ever had been so ; and made 

a prayer to her to save him." 

"And she ? — Don't distress yourself, Mrs. Tug- 

by-" 

"She came to me that night to ask me about 
living here. 'What he was once to me,' she said, 
*is buried in a grave, side by side with what I 
was to him. But I have thought of this; and I 
will make the trial. In the hope of saving him; 
for the love of the light-hearted girl (you remem- 
ber her) who was to have been married on a New 
Year's Day; and for the love of her Richard.' 
And she said he had come to her from Lilian, and 
Lilian had trusted to him, and she never could 
forget that. So they were married; and when 
they came home here, and I saw them, I hoped 
that such prophecies as parted them when they 
were young, may not often fulfil themselves as 

[183] 



THE CHIMES 

they did in this case, or I wouldn't be the makers 
of them for a Mine of Gold." 

The gentleman got off the cask, and stretched 
himself, observing: 

*'I suppose he used her ill, as soon as they were 
married?" 

*'I don't think he ever did that," said Mrs. 
Tugby, shaking her head, and wiping her eyes. 
*' He went on better for a short time ; but, his habits 
were too old and strong to be got rid of; he soon 
fell back a little; and was falling fast back, when 
his illness came so strong upon him. I think he 
has always felt for her. I am sure he has. I 
have seen him, in his crying fits and tremblings, 
try to kiss her hand; and I have heard him call 
her *Meg,' and say it was her nineteenth birth- 
day. There he has been lying, now, these weeks 
and months. Between him and her baby, she 
has not been able to do her old work; and by 
not being able to be regular, she has lost it, even 
if she could have done it. How they have lived, 

I hardly know!" 

[184] 



THE CHIMES 

*'/ know," muttered Mr. Tugby; looking at 
the till, and round the shop, and at his wife; and 
rolling his head with immense intelligence. "Like 
Fighting Cocks!" 

He was interrupted by a cry — a sound of 
lamentation — from the upper story of the house. 
The gentleman moved hurriedly to the door. 

"My friend," he said, looking back, "you 
needn't discuss whether he shall be removed or 
not. He has spared you that trouble, I believe." 

Saying so, he ran up-stairs, followed by Mrs. 
Tugby; while Mr. Tugby panted and grumbled 
after them at leisure: being more than commonly 
short-winded by the weight of the till, in which 
there had been an inconvenient quantity of cop- 
per. Trotty, with the child beside him, floated 
up the staircase like mere air. 

"Follow her! Follow her! Follow her!" He 
heard the ghostly voices in the Bells repeat their 
words as he ascended. "Learn it, from the crea- 
ture dearest to your heart!" 

It was over. It was over. And this was she, 
[185] 



THE CHIMES 

her father's pride and joy! This haggard, 
wretched woman, weeping by the bed, if it de- 
served that name, and pressing to her breast, 
and hanging down her head upon, an infant. 
Who can tell how spare, how sickly, and how 
poor an infant! Who can tell how dear! 

"Thank God!" cried Trotty, holding up his 
folded hands. *'0, God be thanked! She loves 
her child!" 

The gentleman, not otherwise hard-hearted or 
indifferent to such scenes, than that he saw them 
every day, and knew that they were figures of no 
moment in the Filer sums — mere scratches in 
the working of these calculations — laid his hand 
upon the heart that beat no more, and listened 
for the breath, and said, "His pain is over. It's 
better as it is!" Mrs. Tugby tried to comfort 
her with kindness. Mr. Tugby tried philosophy. 

"Come, come!" he said, with his hands in his 
pockets, "you mustn't give way, you know. 
That won't do. You must fight up. What 
would have become of me if / had given way 

[186] 



THE CHIMES 

when I was porter, and we had as many as six 
runaway carriage-doubles at our door in one 
night! But, I fell back upon my strength of 
mind, and didn't open it!'* 

Again Trotty heard the voices saying, "Follow 
her!" He turned towards his guide, and saw 
it rising from him, passing through the air. "Fol- 
low her!" it said. And vanished. 

He hovered round her; sat down at her feet; 
looked up into her face for one trace of her old 
self; listened for one note of her old pleasant 
voice. He flitted round the child: so wan, so 
prematurely old, so dreadful in its gravity, so 
plaintive in its feeble, mournful, miserable wail. 
He almost worshipped it. He clung to it as her 
only safeguard; as the last unbroken link that 
bound her to endurance. He set his father's hope 
and trust on the frail baby; watched her every 
look upon it as she held it in her arms; and 
cried a thousand times, "She loves it! God be 
thanked, she loves it!" 

He saw the woman tend her in the night; re- 

[187] 



THE CHIMES 

turn to her when her grudging husband was asleep, 
and all was still ; encourage her, shed tears with 
her, set nourishment before her. He saw the 
day come, and the night again; the day, the night; 
the time go by; the house of death relieved of 
death; the room left to herself and to the child; 
he heard it moan and cry; he saw it harass her, 
and tire her out, and when she slumbered in ex- 
haustion, drag her back to consciousness, and hold 
her with its little hands upon the rack; but she 
was constant to it, gentle with it, patient with 
it. Patient! Was its loving mother in her in- 
most heart and soul, and had its Being knitted 
up with hers as when she carried it unborn. 

All this time, she was in want: languishing away, 
in dire and pining want. With the baby in her 
arms, she wandered here and there, in quest of 
occupation; and with its thin face lying in her 
lap, and looking up in hers, did any work for any 
wretched sum; a day and night of labour for as 
many farthings as there were figures in the dial. 
If she had quarrelled with it; if she had neglected 

[188] 




With the baby in her arms she wandered here and there in quest of occupation. 



THE CHIMES 

it; if she had looked upon it with a moment's 
hate ; if, in the frenzy of an instant, she had struck 
it! No. His comfort was, She loved it always. 

She told no one of her extremity, and wandered 
abroad in the day lest she should be questioned 
by her only friend : for any help she received from 
her hands, occasioned fresh disputes between the 
good woman and her husband; and it was new 
bitterness to be the daily cause of strife and dis- 
cord, where she owed so much. 

She loved it still. She loved it more and more. 
But a change fell on the aspect of her love. One 
night. 

She was singing faintly to it in its sleep, and 
walking to and fro to hush it, when her door was 
softly opened, and a man looked in. 

"For the last time," he said. 

*' William Fern!" 

"For the last time." 

He listened like a man pursued: and spoke in 
whispers. 

"Margaret, my race is nearly run. I couldn't 
[189] 



THE CHIMES 

finish it, without a parting word with you. With- 
out one grateful word." 

"What have you done.^" she asked: regarding 
him with terror. 

He looked at her, but gave no answer. 

After a short silence, he made a gesture with 
his hand, as if he set her question by; as if he 
brushed it aside; and said: 

"It's long ago, Margaret, now: but that night 
is as fresh in my memory as ever 'twas. We 
little thought, then," he added, looking round, 
"that we should ever meet like his. Your child, 
Margaret.^ Let me have it in my arms. Let 
me hold your child." 

He put his hat upon the floor, and took it. 
And he trembled as he took it, from head to 
foot. 

"Is it a girl.?" 

"Yes." 

He put his hand before its little face. 

"See how weak I'm grown, Margaret, when I 
want the courage to look at it! Let her be, a 

[190] 



THE CHIMES 

moment. I won't hurt her. It's long ago, but 
— What's her name?" 

*' Margaret," she answered, quickly. 

*'I'm glad of that," he said. "I'm glad of 
that!" 

He seemed to breathe more freely; and after 
pausing for an instant, took away his hand, and 
looked upon the infant's face. But covered it 
again, immediately. 

"Margaret!" he said; and gave her back the 
child. "It's Lilian's." 

"Lilian's!" 

"I held the same face in my arms when Lilian's 
mother died and left her." 

"When Lilian's mother died and left her!" 
she repeated, wildly. 

"How shrill you speak! W^hy do you fix your 
eyes upon me so.^ Margaret!" 

She sunk down in a chair, and pressed the in^ 
fant to her breast, and wept over it. Sometimes, 
she released it from her embrace, to look anxiously 
in its face: then strained it to her bosom again. 

[191] 



THE CHIMES 

At those times, when she gazed upon it, then it 
was something fierce and terrible began to mingle 
with her love. Then it was that her old father 
quailed. 

"Follow her!" was sounded through the house. 
"Learn it, from the creature dearest to your 
heart!" 

"Margaret," said Fern, bending over her, and 
kissing her upon the brow: "I thank you for the 
last time. Good night. Good bye! Put your 
hand in mine, and tell me you'll forget me from 
this hour, and try to think the end of me was here." 

"What have you done ?'* she asked again. 

"There'll be a Fire to-night," he said, removing 
from her. "There'll be Fires this winter-time, 
to light the dark nights. East, West, North, and 
South. When you see the distant sky red, they'll 
be blazing. When you see the distant sky red, 
think of me no more; or, if you do, remember 
what a Hell was lighted up inside of me, and think 
you see its flames reflected in the clouds. Good 

night. Good bye!" 

[192] 



THE CHIMES 

She called to him; but he was gone. She sat 
down stupefied, until her infant roused her to a 
sense of hunger, cold, and darkness. She paced 
the room with it the livelong night, hushing it 
and soothing it. She said at intervals, "Like 
Lilian, when her mother died and left her!" 
Why was her step so quick, her eye so wild, her 
love so fierce and terrible, whenever she repeated 
those words ? 

"But, it is Love," said Trotty. "It is Love. 
She'll never cease to love it. My poor Meg!" 

She dressed the child next morning with unusual 
care — ah, vain expenditure of care upon such 
squalid robes ! — and once more tried to find some 
means of life. It was the last day of the Old 
Year. She tried till night, and never broke her 
fast. She tried in vain. 

She mingled with an abject crowd, who tarried 
in the snow, until it pleased some officer appointed 
to dispense the public charity (the lawful charity; 
not that once preached upon a Mount), to call 
them in, and question them, and say to this one, 

[193] 



THE CHIMES 

"Go to such a place," to that one, "Come next 
week;" to make a football of another wretch, and 
pass him here and there, from hand to hand, 
from house to house, until he wearied and lay 
down to die; or started up and robbed, and so 
became a higher sort of criminal, whose claims 
allowed of no delay. Here, too, she failed. 

She loved her child, and wished to have it lying 
on her breast. And that was quite enough. 

It was night: a bleak, dark, cutting night: 
when, pressing the child close to her for warmth, 
she arrived outside the house she called her home. 
She was so faint and giddy, that she saw no one 
standing in the doorway until she was close upon 
it, and about to enter. Then, she recognised the 
master of the house, who had so disposed himself 
— with his person it was not difficult — as to 
fill up the whole entry. 

"O!" he said softly. "You have come back.?" 

She looked at the child, and shook her head. 

"Don't you think you have lived here long 
enough without paying any rent.? Don't you 

[194] 



THE CHIMES 

think that, without any money, you've been a 
pretty constant customer at this shop, now?" 
said Mr. Tugby. 

She repeated the same mute appeal. 
"Suppose you try and deal somewhere else," 
he said. "And suppose you provide yourself 
with another lodging. Come! Don't you think 
you could manage it.?" 

She said in a low voice, that it was very late. 
To-morrow. 

"Now I see what you want," said Tugby; 
"and what you mean. You know there are two 
parties in this house about you, and you delight 
in setting 'em by the ears. I don't want any 
quarrels; I'm speaking softly to avoid a quarrel; 
but if you don't go away, I'll speak out loud, and 
you shall cause words high enough to please you. 
But you shan't come in. That I am deter- 
mined." 

She put her hair back with her hand, and looked 
in a sudden manner at the sky, and the dark lower- 
ing distance. 

[195] 



THE CHIMES 

"This is the last night of an Old Year, and I 
won't carry ill-blood and quarrellings and dis- 
turbances into a New One, to please you nor any- 
body else," said Tugby, who was quite a retail 
Friend and Father. *'I wonder you an't ashamed 
of yourself, to carry such practices into a New 
Year. If you haven't any business in the world, 
but to be always giving way, and always making 
disturbances between man and wife, you'd be 
better out of it. Go along with you." 

"Follow her! To desperation!" 

Again the old man heard the voices. Looking 
up, he saw the figures hovering in the air, and 
pointing where she went, down the dark street. 

"She loves it!" he exclaimed, in agonised en- 
treaty for her. "Chimes! she loves it still!" 

"Follow her!" The shadow swept upon the 
track she had taken, like a cloud. 

He joined in the pursuit; he kept close to her; 
he looked into her face. He saw the same fierce 
and terrible expression mingling with her love, 
and kindling in her eyes. He heard her say, 

[196] 




1^ 



tS 



THE CHIMES 

"Like Lilian! To be changed like Lilian!" and 
her speed redoubled. 

O, for something to awaken her! For any sight, 
or sound, or scent, to call up tender recollections 
in a brain on fire ! For any gentle image of the 
Past, to rise before her! 

"I was her father! I was her father!" cried 
the old man, stretching out his hands to the dark 
shadows flying on above. "Have mercy on her, 
and on me! Where does she go? Turn her 
back! I was her father!" 

But they only pointed to her, as she hurried 
on; and said, "To desperation! Learn it from 
the creature dearest to your heart!" 

A hundred voices echoed it. The air was 
made of breath expended in those words. He 
seemed to take them in, at every gasp he drew. 
They were everywhere, and not to be escaped. 
And still she hurried on; the same light in her 
eyes, the same words in her mouth, "Like Lilian! 
To be changed like Lilian!" 

All at once she stopped. 
[197] 



THE CHIMES 

"Now, turn her back!" exclaimed the old man, 
tearing his white hair. "My child! Meg! Turn 
her back! Great Father, turn her back!" 

In her own scanty shawl, she wrapped the baby 
warm. With her fevered hands, she smoothed 
its limbs, composed its face, arranged its mean 
attire. In her wasted arms she folded it, as 
though she never would resign it more. And 
with her dry lips, kissed it in a final pang, and 
last long agony of Love. 

Putting its tiny hand up to her neck, and hold- 
ing it there, within her dress, next to her dis- 
tracted heart, she set its sleeping face against 
her: closely, steadily, against her: and sped on- 
ward to the River. 

To the rolling River, swift and dim, where 
Winter Night sat brooding like the last dark 
thoughts of many who had sought a refuge there 
before her. Where scattered lights upon the 
banks gleamed sullen, red, and dull, as torches 
that were burning there, to show the way to 
Death. Where no abode of living people cast its 

[198] 



THE CHIMES 

shadow, on the deep, impenetrable, melancholy 
shade. 

To the River! To that portal of Eternity, her 
desperate footsteps tended with the swiftness of 
its rapid waters running to the sea. He tried 
to touch her as she passed him, going down to 
its dark level: but, the wild distempered form, 
the fierce and terrible love, the desperation that 
had left all human check or hold behind, swept 
by him like the wind. 

He followed her. She paused a moment on 
the brink, before the dreadful plunge. He fell 
down on his knees, and in a shriek addressed the 
figures in the Bells now hovering abovie them. 

*'I have learnt it!" cried the old man. "From 
the creature dearest to my heart! O, save her, 
save her!" 

He could wind his fingers in her dress; could 
hold it! As the words escaped his lips, he felt 
his sense of touch return, and knew that he 
detained her. 

The figures looked down steadfastly upon him. 
[199] 



THE CHIMES 

*'I have learnt it!" cried the old man. *'0, 
have mercy on me in this hour, if, in my love for 
her, so young and good, I slandered Nature in 
the breasts of mothers rendered desperate! Pity 
my presumption, wickedness, and ignorance, and 
save her." 

He felt his hold relaxing. They were silent still. 

"Have mercy on her!" he exclaimed, "as one 
in whom this dreadful crime has sprung from 
Love perverted; from the strongest, deepest liove 
we fallen creatures know! Think what her mis- 
ery must have been, when such seed bears such 
fruit! Heaven meant her to be good. There 
is no loving mother on the earth who might not 
come to this, if such a life had gone before. O, 
have mercy on my child, who, even at this pass, 
means mercy to her own, and dies herself, and 
perils her immortal soul, to save it!" 

She was in his arms. He held her now. His 
strength was like a giant's. 

"I see the Spirit of the Chimes among you!" 
cried the old man, singling out the child, and 

[200] 



THE CHIMES 

speaking in some inspiration, which their looks 
conveyed to him. "I know that our inheritance 
is held in store for us by Time. I know there 
is a sea of Time to rise one day, before which all 
who wrong us or oppress us will be swept away 
like leaves. I see it, on the flow! I know that 
we must trust and hope, and neither doubt our- 
selves, nor doubt the good in one another. I 
have learnt it from the creature dearest to my 
heart. I clasp her in my arms again. O Spirits, 
merciful and good, I take your lesson to my 
breast along with her! O Spirits, merciful and 
good, I am grateful!" 

He might have said more; but, the Bells, the 
old familiar Bells, his own dear, constant, steady 
friends, the Chimes, began to ring the joy-peals 
for a New Year: so lustily, so merrily, so happily, 
so gaily, that he leapt upon his feet, and broke 
the spell that bound him. 

*'And whatever you do, father," said Meg, 
"don't eat tripe again, without asking some doc- 

[201] 



THE CHIMES 

tor whether it's likely to agree with you; for how 
you have been going on, Good gracious!" 

She was working with her needle, at the little 
table by the fire; dressing her simple gown with 
ribbons for her wedding. So quietly happy, so 
blooming and youthful, so full of beautiful prom- 
ise, that he uttered a great cry as if it were an 
Angel in his house; then flew to clasp her in his 
arms. 

But, he caught his feet in the newspaper, which 
had fallen on the hearth; and somebody came 
rushing in between them. 

"No!" cried the voice of this same somebody; 
a generous and jolly voice it was! *'Not even 
you. Not even you. The first kiss of Meg in 
the New Year is mine. Mine! I have been 
waiting outside the house, this hour, to hear the 
Bells, and claim it. Meg, my precious prize, a 
happy year! A life of happy years, my darling 
wife!" 

And Richard smothered her with kisses. 

You never in all your life saw anything like 
[202] 




; 5 , 



" T^ he first kiss of Mc^ in the Ne-w I'ear is mine. Mine ' " 



THE CHIMES 

Trotty after this. I don't care where you have 
lived or what you have seen; you never in all 
your life saw anything at all approaching him! 
He sat down in his chair and beat his knees and 
cried ; he sat down in his chair and beat his knees 
and laughed; he sat down in his chair and beat 
his knees and laughed and cried together; he 
got out of his chair and hugged Meg; he got out 
of his chair and hugged Richard; he got out of 
his chair and hugged them both at once; he kept 
running up to Meg, and squeezing her fresh face 
between his hands and kissing it, going from her 
backwards not to lose sight of it, and running up 
again like a figure in at magic lantern; and what- 
ever he did, he was constantly sitting himself 
down in his chair, and never stopping in it for 
one single moment; being — that's the truth — 
beside himself with joy. 

"And to-morrow's your wedding-day, my pet!" 
cried Trotty. "Your real, happy wedding- 
day!" 

"To-day!" cried Richard, shaking hands with 
[203] 



THE CHIMES 

him. "To-day. The Chimes are ringing in the 
New Year. Hear them!" 

They were ringing! Bless their sturdy hearts, 
they WERE ringing! Great Bells as they were; 
melodious, deep-mouthed, noble Bells; cast in 
no common metal; made by no common founder; 
when had they ever chimed like that, be- 
fore! 

"But, to-day, my pet," said Trotty. "You and 
Richard had some words to-day." 

"Because he's such a bad fellow, father," said 
Meg. "An't you, Richard.^ Such a headstrong, 
violent man! He'd have made no more of speak- 
ing his mind to that great Alderman, and putting 
him down I don't know where, than he would 
of " 

" — Kissing Meg," suggested Richard. Doing 
it too! 

"No. Not a bit more," said Meg. "But I 
wouldn't let him, father. Where would have 
been the use!" 

"Richard my boy!" cried Trotty. "You was 
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THE CHIMES 

turned up Trumps originally; and Trumps you 
must be, till you die! But, you were crying by 
the fire to-night, my pet, when I came home! 
Why did you cry by the fire?" 

"I was thinking of the years we've passed to- 
gether, father. Only that. And thinking that 
you might miss me, and be lonely." 

Trotty w^as backing off to that extraordinary 
chair again, when the child, who had been awak- 
ened by the noise, came running in half- 
dressed. 

"Why, here she is!" cried Trotty, catching 
her up. "Here's little Lilian! Ha ha ha! Here 
we are and here we go! O here we are and here 
we go again! And here we are and here we go! 
and Uncle Will too!" Stopping in his trot to 
greet him heartily. "O, Uncle Will, the vision 
that I've had to-night, through lodging you! O, 
Uncle Will, the obligations that you've laid me 
under, by your coming, my good friend!" 

Before Will Fern could make the least reply, a 
band of music burst into the room, attended by 

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THE CHIMES 

a lot of neighbours, screaming, "A Happy New 
Year, Meg!" "A Happy Wedding!" ''Many 
of 'em!" and other fragmentary good wishes of 
that sort. The Drum (who was a private friend 
of Trotty's) then stepped forward, and said: 

"Trotty Veck, my boy! It's got about, that 
your daughter is going to be married to-morrow. 
There an't a soul that knows you that don't wish 
you well, or that knows her and don't wish her 
well. Or that knows you both, and don't wish 
you both all the happiness the New Year can 
bring. And here we are, to play it in and dance 
it in, accordingly." 

Which was received with a general shout. The 
Drum was rather drunk, by-the-bye; but, never 
mind. 

"What a happiness it is, I'm sure," said Trotty, 
*'to be so esteemed! How kind and neighbourly 
you are! It's all along of my dear daughter. 
She deserves it!" 

They were ready for a dance in half a second 
(Meg and Richard at the top) ; and the Drum was 

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THE CHIMES 

on the very brink of leathering away with all his 
power; when a combination of prodigious sounds 
was heard outside, and a good-humoured comely 
woman of some fifty years of age, or thereabouts, 
came running in, attended by a man bearing a 
stone pitcher of terrific size, and closely followed 
by the marrow-bones and cleavers, and the bells; 
not the Bells, but a portable collection on a frame. 

Trotty said, "It's Mrs. Chickenstalker ! " And 
sat down and beat his knees again. 

"Married, and not tell me, Meg!" cried the 
good woman. "Never! I couldn't rest on the 
last night of the Old Year without coming to wish 
you joy. I couldn't have done it, Meg. Not if 
I had been bed-ridden. So here I am; and as 
it's New Year's Eve, and the Eve of your wedding 
too, my dear, I had a little flip made, and brought 
it with me." 

Mrs. Chickenstalker's notion of a little flip 
did honour to her character. The pitcher steamed 
and smoked and reeked like a volcano; and the 
man who had carried it, was faint. 

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THE CHIMES 

"Mrs. Tugby!" said Trotty, who had been 
going round and round her, in an ecstasy. — "I 
should say, Chickenstalker — Bless your heart 
and soul! A happy New Year, and many of 'em! 
Mrs. Tugby," said Trotty when he had saluted 
her; — "I should say, Chickenstalker — This is 
William Fern and Lilian." 

The worthy dame, to his surprise, turned very 
pale and very red. 

"Not Lilian Fern whose mother died in Dor- 
setshire!" said she. 

Her uncle answered "Yes," and meeting hastily, 
they exchanged some hurried words together; of 
which the upshot was, that Mrs. Chickenstalker 
shook him by both hands; saluted Trotty on 
his cheek again of her own free will; and took 
the child to her capacious breast. 

"Will Fern!" said Trotty, pulling on his right- 
hand muffler. "Not the friend you was hoping 
to find.?" 

"Ay!" returned Will, putting a hand on each 
of Trotty's shoulders. "And like to prove a 'most 

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TJie dance at Trotty VecFs. 



THE CHIMES 

as good a friend, if that can be, as one I 
found." 

"O!" said Trotty. "Please to play up there. 
Will you have the goodness!" 

To the music of the band, the bells, the marrow- 
bones and cleavers, all at once; and while the 
Chimes were yet in lusty operation out of doors; 
Trotty, making Meg and Richard, second couple, 
led off Mrs. Chickenstalker down the dance, and 
danced it in a step unknown before or since; 
founded on his own peculiar trot. 

Had Trotty dreamed ? Or, are his joys and 
sorrows, and the actors in them, but a dream; 
himself a dream; the teller of this tale a dreamer, 
waking but now ? If it be so, O listener, dear to 
him in all his visions, try to bear in mind the stern 
realities from which these shadows come; and in 
your sphere — none is too wide, and none too 
limited for such an end — endeavour to correct, 
improve, and soften them. So may the New 
Year be a happy one to you, happy to many more 
whose happiness depends on you! So may each 

[209] 



THE CHIMES 

year be happier than the last, and not the mean- 
est of our brethren or sisterhood debarred their 
rightful share, in what our Great Creator formed 
them to enjoy. 




[210] 



0I.77-J1 



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